New Member
by russianwinter013
Summary: During battle, new Autobots appear, but one has the attention of Team Prime the most. He is fast, strong, silent—a ninja known as Swiftlock. He is recruited, a warrior. But something doesn't seem right about the speechless Cybertronian. He seems to be hiding something. Will the new members of Team Prime be helpful, or will they prove the opposite?
1. Identity Establishment

"Optimus, Decepticon activity has been located," Ratchet stated.

The enormous Autobot nodded. "The fact is known, old friend." He faced the waiting Autobots. "Autobots, roll out," he ordered.

Ratchet activated the Ground Bridge and they all changed into their alt-modes, driving away.

"Miko, if you go through that Ground Bridge, I will have Optimus ban you from base," Ratchet said in an ominous voice. The girl did not respond. Ratchet reached over and caught her as she began to run.

"Aw, no fair! Why did Jack get to go and not me?" Miko complained.

Ratchet narrowed his optics and he motioned to the couch, where the teenager was, fast asleep.

"That lying—" Miko muttered. "Put me down!"

Ratchet shook his helm, but did as demanded. "Miko," he said in a warning tone, as the girl made to make noise, "Do not disturb him."

Miko put her hands on her hips. "What difference does it make?"

The medic scowled. "It would not be taken too kindly, and I should know a thing about that."

* * *

The Autobots all came to a stop near a large cave. Its opening gaped like a massive black mouth. They all changed from alt-mode to robotic, switching their servos into guns and making their silent trek into the cave.

A few moments later, their auditory receptors picked up signs of battle.

"Proceed with caution," Optimus rumbled in his baritone voice. He motioned for them to continue on.

In their range of sight, they saw the remaining Vehicons firing at an unseen target. Half of them went down as a blur passed them. The others were shot at, quickly off-lining.

"Looks like someone's taking care of them for us," Bulkhead said.

Suddenly shouting came from deeper into the cave.

"No, please!" It was an unrecognizable voice. "I—I'll tell you whatever you want to know!"

The Autobots made their way to the voices, Optimus leading with his massive blaster raised. Arcee, Smokescreen, and Bulkhead were shocked by what they saw.

An immensely tall Cybertronian was advancing on a Vehicon cowered against a wall. He had a huge sword in one servo, and it was raised and aimed at the Vehicon. His body was mainly black, save for the white and red stripes highlighted his arms, legs, and back. Spikes curved from his shoulders. His face wasn't visible.

"Who is that?" Arcee whispered.

"I have no idea," Bulkhead responded, "Optimus, do you know?"

Their leader's voice came from the shadows. "He is not identifiable."

"Should we help him?" Smokescreen asked as the young Vehicon began to fight back. Optimus did not answer, but by his silence the team took it as a denial. They continued to observe.

The Decepticon was fighting fiercely now, his blaster giving off shots that seemed deadlier than the normal Vehicon one. He fired at the unknown Cybertronian—it was unclear if he was ally or enemy—but he blocked it with his immense sword. Bulkhead shifted, making the rock around him groan. The unrecognizable Cybertronian turned—

—and everyone but their leader gasped in shock.

The Cybertronian's eyes were black, with a red line between them, similar to cat-like pupils. They were piercing and dark, and Arcee knew at that moment that he knew they were there.

The Vehicon took the moment as one to try to escape, as the warrior's back was to him. The tall Cybertronian fired over his shoulder panel, and it took the Decepticon down. Then he turned to them, his black optics piercing.

"Soldier, what is your name?" Optimus questioned.

The Cybertronian said nothing.

"_Optimus Prime_ just asked you a question," Bulkhead said.

There was still no response.

Optimus came closer to him. The black optics narrowed to dangerous slits, and the grip on the enormous sword tightened.

"We mean you no harm," the Prime said. "We merely wish to know where you have come from."

No answer.

Arcee stepped forward. "Are your auditory receptors broken? The only remaining Prime has asked where you've come from and who you are."

The Cybertronian's gaze went to her, burning like black fire. But then he turned the servo that was facing them in a way that seemed painful—no harming of his physical status was shown—and Arcee saw that he had no ranking mark.

Optimus did as well. "We are Autobots, and we wish to obtain more knowledge of your background."

Again, the warrior twisted his servo in that unsettling way. The Elite Guard sign was there, branded precariously in a spot that should have worn the symbol away.

"You were an Elite Guard?" Smokescreen moved closer to the warrior. "How come I don't recognize you?"

The warrior remained silent as he stuck his sword in the rock with a ground-shaking thud. Arcee peered at the Cybertronian. _He's certainly stronger than he looks, _she thought.

"We can't let you into our base if you don't tell us where you've come from and who you are," Bulkhead reminded the warrior. The soldier stared at the Wrecker, the red in his optics glowing as he rose from his crouch. He advanced on Bulkhead, menace in his stride. Smokescreen stood in front of the Wrecker, seeming shorter than normal compared to the massive height of the newcomer.

"Calm down, buddy," Smokescreen said. "He didn't mean anything by what he said."

The Cybertronian stopped, his optics blazing frighteningly. He raised a servo, and everyone except Optimus tensed. But then he pointed to his throat, shaking his helm.

"He can't speak?" Bulkhead asked.

Arcee shook her head. "He could have taken a Vow of Silence."

The warrior stared darkly, not showing if the guess was correct or not. Optimus held the unwavering gaze.

The Prime said, "Do you wish to fight the Autobot cause with us?"

The Cybertronian blinked in response.

"I will only ask this of you in return," Optimus continued. "If you wish to seek refuge with us as an alternative of roaming the galaxy, I require your name."

The Autobot said nothing, but they noticed the tensing of his body. He turned his back to them, and it was silent and still in the cave until he turned and yanked his sword from the ground.

He aimed it with deadly accuracy at Arcee, who, caught off guard, stared in surprise. Bulkhead took out his signature battle mace, raising it to hit.

In response, the Autobot's lips curved into a scowl, and they saw that his teeth were pointed like fangs— horrifyingly similar to Megatron's. He looked extremely dangerous, and he raised his weapon higher.

"Arcee, Bulkhead, stand down," Optimus said suddenly.

"What—? Optimus, with all due respect, he made to attack us," Bulkhead said.

Optimus nodded. "I recognize the fact." He faced the Autobot.

"Swiftlock, lower your weapon," he ordered. Swiftlock let out a deep growl more terrifying than Predaking's, but he lowered the sword.

Bulkhead was surprised. "Optimus, this can't be Swiftlock. He was killed centuries ago by rogue Predacons."

Optimus turned his glowing blue optics on the Wrecker. "This is Swiftlock." He provided no more evidence.

Arcee stared in shock. She had heard legends about Swiftlock, but had never seen him. He was a ninja, his silence being his most defining characteristic, and was lethal to both Autobots and Decepticons. He was known for his deadly accuracy in aim, his strength, his—

"Ratchet, prepare a Ground Bridge." Optimus's voice tore her from her thoughts. A few moments later, the green portal appeared. As they entered, Arcee felt a gaze on her. She turned. It was Swiftlock, his towering figure a shadow in the light of the portal. Arcee tried to shake off the feeling that he would off-line her with his sword as they entered into base.


	2. Grave Reminder

Ratchet scowled as Miko began to play her guitar. How could humans find pleasure in that _dreadful_ noise?

Up on the balcony, Jack groaned and stirred. Ratchet narrowed his optics, turning to the transfer student.

"Miko, shut that infernal racket off," he said in a stern voice. Miko kept strumming, and the medic was tempted to crush the human's speakers.

"Miko!" Ratchet reached over and unplugged the speakers. The girl glared at him. "Aw, Ratchet, I was just starting!"

The medic frowned and motioned to the balcony. Jack was fully awake. His dark eyes were locked on Miko, and he was glaring furiously. She froze, surprised at the teen's anger.

_"__Ratchet, we require a Ground Bridge." _ Optimus's voice came over the comm-link. Ratchet opened the portal, and all of the Autobots came in.

Ratchet noticed another figure enter the base. He was extremely tall, only a foot or two shorter than Optimus. As he looked around, Ratchet noticed his black optics. The newcomer stopped when he felt the medic's eyes on him, and he glared. Ratchet was somewhat taken aback. The Autobot was staring at him with a gaze that could be described as black venom.

"Oooh, who's he?" Miko ran up the balcony and leaned over the edge to get a better look at the new Autobot. Without turning, the new ally unsheathed his sword and aimed it at Miko. His fang-like teeth were bared.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Bulkhead was near Miko. He took out his battle mace and knocked the other back.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Bulkhead taunted. In response, Swiftlock growled, the red in his optics blazing. Up on the balcony all of the humans stared.

"Did he just _growl_ at you?" Raf said. No one answered, but Bulkhead raised his mace to hit Swiftlock. They were all shocked by what they saw.

Moving faster than light, Swiftlock hit a spot on Bulkhead's arm, making it go limp, and twisted the Wrecker's servo behind him. The warrior's sword was at Bulkhead's throat.

"Remind me never to make _him_ angry," Miko said. Ratchet scowled at her and pulled the two apart.

"Bulkhead, you know better than to provoke," the medic snapped. Then he looked to Swiftlock. "You, soldier, should know too, being an Autobot." Bulkhead apologized, and then Ratchet looked expectantly to Swiftlock. The only thing the silent warrior did was stare back.

"Ratchet, Bulkhead, release him." Optimus entered, his steps shaking the ground. "With all due respect, Optimus, it was _him_ who started the fight," the Wrecker explained, receiving a low growl from Swiftlock.

"I have witnessed what has transpired," the Prime continued. "Bulkhead, you know never to provoke your teammates." His stern gaze went to Swiftlock. "Swiftlock, I know you are an immensely capable warrior with little protocol. It would be wise to not begin negative interactions with newly acquired teammates." His last statement was directed to both of them. "My apologies, sir," Bulkhead said.

Swiftlock said nothing, but the fire in his optics died.

* * *

"A word, Optimus?" Ratchet inquired.

The Autobot leader nodded. "Of course." They both stood outside base, on a rock clearing overlooking the desert.

"Are you absolutely sure that thing in there is Swiftlock?" The medic's voice was low. "I'm not even sure if the legends are true."

Optimus nodded. "The Cybertronian that is currently inside our residence is Swiftlock. He was not recognizable at first, but his weapon was."

"I have seen it. But is it truly possible that he could have it, after all this time?"

The Prime nodded his helm, staring out at the setting sun.

"There is something else. Is it likely that Swiftlock may be a Predacon?"

"I have pondered that idea, in addition. It will be left untouched for now." The two reentered base, as it was beginning to storm.

The kids were on the balcony again. Raf was discussing Swiftlock warily, as well as Miko, but Jack was asleep again.

"Miko and Raf." Optimus startled them, and they ceased talking. Lighting and thunder cracked behind the Autobot leader and their eyes widened at how terrifying Optimus seemed.

"Swiftlock is not inside," Ratchet said in a low voice to his leader, who, in response, nodded.

"You already know that we have a new member in Team Prime. His name is Swiftlock and he neither Autobot nor Decepticon—a Neutral." He took in their interested expressions and continued, "Swiftlock is dangerous. Many have died by his hands, whether they were ally or foe."

"So why did you bring him here if he's nothing but a cold-blooded murderer?" Miko stared up at the massive Prime. His faintly glowing optics were fixed on some far away object.

"Swiftlock may be a promising ally. You have not seen him in action, but I do not wish to fulfill that notion for some time."

For his next statement, he directly looked at Miko.

"Swiftlock is mute. We do not know if he has a damaged voice box or if he has taken a Vow of Silence."

The Prime stood tall, and he seemed frightening and god-like in the lightning.

"There is to be no provoking any corrupt or aggressive behavior in or of Swiftlock. His temperament is unstable, and though he may regard his actions, he will not regret them." His statement was directed to all. "Is that understood?"

They all nodded. "Yes, sir."

Optimus looked around. "Where is Swiftlock?"

Ratchet stood near the window. "He is outside, in the rain."

"It is not harming him?"

"Not that I can see. Should we bring him in?"

"Leave him be. Personal space is essential to the composed mind."

* * *

Swiftlock knelt in the rain. His sword was in the ground at his side. Why had he agreed to come here? He could end up slaughtering all of them, as he had done to the squadron of Vehicons.

He thought about the rain.

The weather was constant on Cybertron, but on this tiny planet it varied. The sand turned to sludge and crept down the cliffs like slimy snakes. The acidic rain on Cybertron burned through their metal skin, eating them alive and leaving no evidence, like a criminal leaving clue of his wrong doing.

The door behind him slid open, and the small female one known as Arcee stepped tentatively out, yards away from the deadly Autobot. Sensing her there, Swiftlock turned. In the dim light, the red on his gaze stood out like human blood against white asphalt.

"We wanted to know if you'd like to come inside," she said. The warrior said nothing. Arcee clenched her hands into fists, about to demand what his problem was, when she recalled what Optimus had said about Swiftlock's violent and unstable nature.

"If you don't want to, you can just say so," Arcee continued. She didn't believe he couldn't talk.

His response was silence.

Now Arcee was annoyed. "Why do you pretend? You _can _talk, so why don't you?"

Swiftlock was suddenly looming over her, his sword in hand. He made to strike her, but then he stuck it back in the rock with a ground-shaking thud. His gaze blazed black as she prepared for attack.

He took off the throat covering she just noticed—it made Arcee think of ripping his own throat open, and she cringed—and pointed inside, at a large, gaping hole.

He wasn't under the Vow of Silence.

He had no voice box.

There was no sign of it being ripped out. No dry Energon or veins—nothing.

It just wasn't there.


	3. Assisting Realization

"He doesn't have a voice box at all?" Ratchet was talking to Arcee but wasn't facing her.

"No, he doesn't." Arcee forcefully stilled her shaking servos. _Why_ would he show her something like that? Sure, it may not creep _him_ out, but it sure scared _her_.

The door to the outside cliff ledge opened. Swiftlock entered, one hand over his throat. Ratchet turned, his optics scanning the Autobot. Arcee felt the medic's distaste and concern.

"Swiftlock, what is wrong?" He was facing the soldier.

Swiftlock let out a deep growl and took an Energon stained hand from his throat.

The light in his gaze held much darkness.

* * *

"Has your throat ever bled like this before?" Ratchet questioned. Swiftlock shook his helm and handed the covering to the medic, who scanned it with narrowed optics.

"This staunches the loss of Energon?"

The warrior nodded and snarled as the medic tuned with a long, thin needle in his servo. "I have to analyze you for any diseases. You body may not be precluded from such states." He came closer and motioned for Swiftlock to tilt his head. The warrior obliged, not complaining when the point sunk deep into his neck. Ratchet read the results aloud from his computer.

"Your systems have no irreparable immolation," the medic said. He turned to the Autobot. "But it states that you are a Predacon. Is this true?"

Swiftlock narrowed his optics, which had more red than normal. He unsheathed his sword and drew it across his left servo.

The mark of the Predacons was visible beneath the thick outer armor.

_Hours later…_

"So he _is_ a Predacon?" Arcee asked.

The medic nodded. "Yes. It would explain how he can growl without a voice box, and his abnormal reflexes—they are natural Predacon traits."

Arcee wrung her hands. She was frightened, nervous, and surprised, all at the same time. Was this the answer to Swiftlock's strange behavior?

"That still gives us no reason to trust him," Wheeljack said from the shadows. "Predacons are vicious, unpredictable creatures."

"Optimus said we could trust him. He would be a great resource," Ratchet said.

_Resource, is _that_ what we're calling Swiftlock? _Arcee wondered silently.

"What will guarantee that he won't just kill us in recharge?" Smokescreen said. On his back, his enormous door wings shuddered.

"He won't have a motive if we can make him trust us," the medic replied.

"That won't be easy," Wheeljack countered. "He already thinks we'll attack—and Bulkhead's stunt earlier didn't help at all."

Bulkhead rolled his optics at Wheeljack's dark tone, but he said nothing.

"So does Swiftlock turn into a beast or a vehicle?" Smokescreen said. His blue optics glowed in the dim light as he moved closer to the others, his servos crossed.

"We have yet to know. But he won't have a reason to use either one unless the situation calls for it." Ratchet's tone held a note of menace in it.

An engine echoed. Optimus entered in his alt-mode. His door opened and Jack climbed out, looking bored and moving out of the way as the Autobot leader transformed.

Still in the shadows, Wheeljack said, "Doc has something to tell you."

Ratchet scowled at the nickname. "Swiftlock is part Predacon, as you assumed."

Optimus nodded. "Is it in his knowledge that we know?"

The medic narrowed his optics. "If he does, what will he do?"

The Prime replied, "That, old friend, is a question Swiftlock will be required to answer when he is ready." The leader's stern gaze scanned the room as lightning cracked outside. "Where is Swiftlock now?"

"He's outside," Wheeljack answered.

"He refused to stay in med-bay," Ratchet continued, "But he has the covering on."

"With a temper like his I'm surprised he and Ratchet aren't buddies," Wheeljack said, grinning somewhat maniacally at the medic's scowl.

* * *

Smokescreen stood outside behind the cliff that was their base, practicing his fighting moves. Optimus was normally his teacher and Arcee was the backup, but neither of them was there, being on a mission.

Suddenly, the young warrior froze.

"Who's there?"

Out of the shadows, Swiftlock appeared.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not polite to sneak up on your teammates?" the former Guard said.

Swiftlock said nothing, but he came closer to Smokescreen, who was still in his fighting stance. A few feet away, the half-breed stopped, getting into his own stance and nodding at Smokescreen.

_He wants me to spar with him? _Smokescreen wondered.

_You won't stand a chance against a Predacon, _a voice in his head answered.

Swiftlock growled, becoming impatient.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Smokescreen muttered.

They fought.

Smokescreen was down in a second.

The Predacon stared down at him as if wondering what he was doing there. After a moment, he shook his helm and moved back, getting back into his original stance. He showed a few movements to Smokescreen and then glared at him expectantly. Smokescreen mimicked the moves. Swiftlock watched, and when Smokescreen finished, he took his sword out of its sheath and stuck it in the ground.

He looked at Smokescreen impatiently.

"You want me to take it out?" the younger warrior said.

Swiftlock said nothing, but his gaze blazed black.

Smokescreen let out a deep breath and put his hand on the hilt.

* * *

"He _sparred_ with you?" Miko said. Her pigtails bounced as she ran towards Smokescreen. "How many times were you beaten?"

The girl's grin was only half-cruel.

Smokescreen stared at her. "What makes you think I lost?"

Miko stopped bouncing and put a hand on her hip. "Please. You couldn't stand any chance against a Predacon, let alone one as dangerous as Predaking or Soundwave."

Smokescreen's optics narrowed. "Soundwave isn't a Predacon."

Miko laughed. "How do you know? He used _one tentacle_ to knock you unconscious."

"He _electrocuted_ me into stasis."

"That doesn't make a difference. You're bigger than him, for Pete's sake."

"Who's Pete?"

Miko looked ready to make fun of the former Guard, but Raf piped up, "'For Pete's sake' is an expression. It's like how you guys say 'By the AllSpark' or 'Primus'."

Smokescreen nodded thoughtfully, closing his optics. He jerked awake when the roar of an engine echoed as an Autobot pulled in.

Wheeljack entered, transforming with a scowl on his face. A set of deep claw marks was on his chest, but if there was pain bothering him, he didn't show it. Energon leaked from the deep wounds.

"What happened to you?" Smokescreen said.

"Predaking," Wheeljack growled, closing his optics as he steadied himself with a hand on the wall.

"Get to med-bay, then." Ratchet appeared out of nowhere. "You're losing too much Energon."

"I'm fine, Doc—"

"No, you are not." Ratchet's glare destroyed any refusal. Wheeljack was steadied by Smokescreen, much to his dismay, as Ratchet ran his scanner.

"You were lucky," the medic stated. "If the gouges were any deeper, they would sever your spark."

"Well, good for Predaking. Now are we done?" The Wrecker tried to force himself up, but Ratchet shook his helm, one servo raised in a warning gesture. But before he could protest, the back door opened. It was Swiftlock.

Everything fell silent as the mute warrior entered. They all watched as he stared back at them, his dark figure towering over them. His gaze stopped on Smokescreen.

"Come here, Swiftlock," Ratchet said suddenly. Swiftlock broke his stare and went over to the medic, leaning down to stare at him.

Ratchet appeared unfazed by the dark warrior's stare. "Where have you been?"

Swiftlock's optics moved from the medic to the back door.

"How long?"

Before Swiftlock could answer, the ground shook as Optimus appeared.

"Pardon his absence, Ratchet. He was outside with me." His gravelly baritone voice echoed in the room. "He will not be joining us in our training sessions."

"Sir, if you don't mind," Bulkhead said, speaking for the first time in a while, "May I ask why? Smokescreen was trained well in combat techniques, but he still went on our training meetings."

The massive Prime looked down at the Wrecker. "Extra training is not required, as of this matter, for Swiftlock."

"Even if that is true," Bulkhead countered, "Are we just going to leave him alone in our base? He can't be trusted." At the Prime's darkening gaze, he added, "Sir."

Swiftlock, beside Optimus, let out a deep growl.

Optimus raised a servo. "At ease, soldier." His gaze did not stray from Bulkhead. "Swiftlock will not be alone."

Ratchet turned, understanding what the Prime was saying. The others were surprised at the rage in his gaze. They were shocked, as the medic was normally in a bad mood, but he looked absolutely insane at the moment.

"With all due respect, Optimus," Ratchet said, though he sounded like he meant the complete opposite, "My work will be impaired by watching an Autobot with a broken temper."

Swiftlock was infuriated as well, and his teeth were bared. But he stayed still at Optimus's command and glared at Ratchet with blazing optics.

"You are the only Autobot who rarely leaves base," Optimus said. "It will be you who watches Swiftlock." He moved closer to Ratchet, leaning down to add in a low voice, "Old friend, you are the only one who has had any experience, and the most, with Swiftlock. It is best if you are with him."

Ratchet scowled and nodded. "As you wish."

* * *

"Did Ratchet seem angrier than usual?" Smokescreen said to Bumblebee.

The scout beeped rapidly.

"I _know_ he's always grumpy," Smokescreen sighed. "But he _is_ the only one with the know-how about Swiftlock. You think it was directed at someone else?"

"Miko _did_ turn her speakers on high blast before we left," Bulkhead interjected from his place in front of them. "Maybe that's why. I'd be cranky too."

"Guys, we're on a training mission," Arcee snapped. "I doubt Optimus would appreciate it if we're not using our time wisely."

"Oh, quit worrying, Arcee," Smokescreen said with a lazy wave of his hand. "If he was going to attack, he would ha—"

"Smokescreen?" Arcee turned, her optics darting around the foggy forest.

"Where'd he go?" Bulkhead demanded, his voice echoing dangerously.

"Quiet!" Arcee hissed. "He must've been taken. That's what we get for keeping our guard down." She looked around. "'Bee's gone, too."

A scream pierced the air.

Arcee continued anyway. When she realized Bulkhead wasn't following, she looked back at the Wrecker to see that he was frozen in fright.

"Quit being a baby," the female warrior said. "Smokescreen's just messing with us."

There was no response to her chastisement.

"Bulkhead?"

The Wrecker was nowhere in sight.

"Scrap." She took out her guns and made her way through the forest.

* * *

"How many times have I told you _not_ to touch that?"

"But I'm bored," Miko groaned. "There's nothing to do."

Ratchet was unfazed by this. "Well, go be bored somewhere else. I don't have time for your noise." As Miko grumbled and moved away, he added, "Stay away from Swiftlock, Miko. I am not 'joking', as you would call it."

"I will," the human called.

"In your dreams," she added quietly.

* * *

**I have received a review that asks if the destruction of Team Prime's base occurred, since Predaking appears _after _that. To answer it, I am saying the base's destruction never happened. This story is slightly AU, after all. Any other questions, feel free to PM me or leave it in a review.**


	4. A Strange Encounter

**Chapter 4 of New Member.**

**Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Transformers**

**A/N: Characters Will Seem OC**

**Nothing else to say...enjoy, read and review, please!**

* * *

_How did I get stuck with this fanatical chatterbox of a 'Bot? _Prowl wondered silently as Blurr rambled on about the ways the lines curved around the trunk of the tree they were in.

Prowl hissed, grabbing the Guard's servo and ignoring the way he flinched. "Is the meaning of the term 'quiet' in your processor?"

Blurr stared at the annoyed ninja. "Sorry, I just wonder about Earth. How is it that such a small rock of a planet can hold so much beauty? You know, this reminds me of the time Longarm sent me on that mission to find out who killed that one 'Bot, the one that created the Energon blasters—what was his name? Oh, right, Steel. His body was decorated by neon paint, an obvious marking of the Enervator clan, though he looked like the storage room—"

"Shh." Prowl put his hand over the young Elite Guard's mouth.

Blurr looked surprised and eager at the same time. His voice was muffled as he spoke. "What is it? Are there 'Cons? I haven't scrapped one in so long; isn't it funny how their faceplates look after I put them in stasis cuffs? Hilarious, don't you thi—?"

He stopped when he realized Prowl was giving him a death glare of the same intensity as when he threatened to put Blurr in stasis.

"Sorry," Blurr mumbled. The ninja looked away, taking his hand down.

Prowl sighed, his gaze fixed on something below them on the ground.

"What is it?" Blurr demanded in a somewhat quiet voice. "What do you see?"

"Silence," Prowl hissed, sending a warning glance at Blurr. He pointed to the ground, where a female Cybertronian was walking with one servo replaced by a blaster.

"Is she looking for us? Does she think we're Decepticons?" Blurr was shaking now, more in anticipation and excitement than fear.

Prowl did not reply. His gaze never strayed from the female. She was a few feet shorter than him and Blurr. From the way she moved, he figured she had had some sort of stealth, covert operations, or counterintelligence training on Cybertron. Adjusting his auditory receptors to a dull roar—both for blocking out Blurr and to focus his other senses—he stood and vanished.

"Why do you think she's here? Longarm warned me about this—some crazy Cybertronian female lived out here in these woods, off-lining anybot she came across—Prowl? Prowl?" He looked around, searching.

Prowl was gone.

* * *

Arcee moved silently through the woods. Smokescreen, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee were gone—all because she didn't pay attention.

_Quit kicking yourself, _she told herself. _It could have happened to anyone. This is only a training mission, after all—they're not offline._

A snap tore her from her thoughts. She whipped around, gun at the ready.

But the Cybertronian she was facing wasn't Optimus.

He was taller than her, a little shorter than Ratchet, and had a blue and white color scheme. The Elite Guard symbol was centered in the middle of his chest.

"Who are you?" she demanded, charging her blaster. Though he had the Elite Guard symbol, he still could be a Decepticon posing as an Autobot.

"The name is Blurr. I'm an Elite Guard Special Agent here on a mission to find Optimus Prime and his team. Do you, by chance, know any of his members? I've been instructed to 'befriend' them in a certain sort of way. My partner is supposed to be here, but he vanished like he always does." He cocked his head at her. "You haven't seen him, have you? He's tall, black and gold paintjob, really frightening—almost like a Decepticon, you know? He's about as scary as Megatron on a _good_ day."

Arcee stared, wary and surprised. This _kid_ in front of her had just said eighty-five words in three seconds. No wonder his name was Blurr.

Thundering footsteps sounded, and then Optimus was there, along with the others.

Bumblebee beeped, pointing at Blurr and looking up at Optimus, who was watching Blurr with a somewhat curious look.

"Sir, do you—?" Bulkhead was cut off as Blurr moved around them with incredible speed.

"So _you_ are Optimus Prime's team? Hmm, not much." He tilted his helm at Bulkhead. "You are a big one, aren't you? You must be Bulkhead—at least; your physical features provide the evidence for you to match with the report file I read on you. Wide shoulders, obvious capability of lifting massive objects, somewhat small helm—yes, yes, I think you are Bulkhead."

Blurr faced Bumblebee, his optics beginning to glow startlingly bright from his curiosity. "And you are Bumblebee. I recognize you from the files—black and yellow, like the Earth insect; your alt-mode is a muscle car for which you have great faith in. I've heard of a Decepticon, though, who rivals you; being faster than you, you tend to become annoyed when he races away from you, as stated in classified files when you were stripped of your vital organ the T-Cog."

Bumblebee could only stare in shock.

Blurr was now about to address Smokescreen, but a voice from somewhere in the shadows spoke:

"That is enough, Blurr."

Something moved from the trees, landing silently on its feet. It was a male Cybertronian. He was tall—taller than Smokescreen—and was about as slim as Soundwave. His body was mainly black but there were gold accents. He gave off an air of secrecy and power; his face was an expressionless mask. His optics were hidden beneath a visor. His doorwings—a Praxian's mark—were thin and spiked, and the Autobot symbol was on his left doorwing.

He moved without a noise, taking in each of them with a somewhat unsettling stare. His gaze stopped on Optimus. The Autobot nodded his helm in acknowledgement. "Optimus. It is good to see you again."

The Prime nodded back. "Likewise. My intention is not to be abrupt, but what are you doing here on Earth?"

The slim Autobot clasped his hands behind his back. "I am here on a mission to find you and your team. My ship picked up numerous Autobot signatures, but one was not." He paused, his gaze locked on something in the distance. His hands unfolded slowly.

Blurr stepped up. "Prowl does that a lot. Says he needs to 'clear his processor of unnecessary information', but I think he does it on purpose—!"

A shuriken whipped past his face. A Vehicon fell to the ground with a thud, his visor darkening as he off-lined. Prowl was staring intently at something in the forest. Everyone whipped out their weapons, ready for battle.

"Well, since _he_ knows we're here, no point in hiding," a deep voice said. From the misty darkness, Knock Out and Breakdown came into the clearing.

Breakdown grinned when he noticed Blurr and Prowl. "New recruits, Prime? Are we 'Cons too much for you?"

"For your information, I am not a part of Optimus Prime's team. I am here on a mission to find him, as I did not only a few moments ago, but I really must tell you because you seem a few gears short in the processor," Blurr snapped, approaching the Decepticon.

"Wise guy, huh?" Breakdown's grin widened as his servo changed into his signature hammer. "Let's see how well he fares against a Decepticon warrior." He raised his weapon and brought it down, only to find that the Autobot wasn't there.

"Missed me." Blurr was on the other side of the clearing, leaning against a tree with a smug grin on his faceplate. Breakdown lunged at him, but he was diverted from his task as Bulkhead rammed into him.

The others were engaged in battle with Knock Out. Arcee faltered as Knock Out electrocuted her arm with his staff. Why was he suddenly so good at hand-to-hand (or weapon, for this matter) combat all of a sudden?

Smokescreen attacked from behind, but the medic sidestepped, ending up behind him, and sliced at him with his buzzsaw, tripping him and pinning the Autobot to the ground.

Knock Out grinned maniacally, his 'Mad Doctor' nickname coming into play with the Energon dripping from his weapon. "Does it hurt, Autobot? How about _this_?" He shoved his staff deep into Smokescreen's wound, making him scream in pain. The Decepticon narrowed his blazing optics, savoring his task at hand with the same intensity and fury of a madman.

Something shot out of the forest, slamming into the medic. Knock Out stumbled, the force of his fall taking his staff out of Smokescreen's back. The Autobot groaned, his optics shuttering. Arcee ran over to her teammate, trying to keep him from going into stasis-lock. She watched as Knock Out tried to fight whatever was attacking him.

It was Prowl. Moving without a sound, he dodged each of the Decepticon's attacks, falling back and striking with greater force each time. She was shocked at how fast the Autobot could move, his speed nearly matching with Blurr's. Then, as the Decepticon lunged at Prowl, he vanished. The 'Con glared around, teeth bared in a scowl, searching for the Autobot. Out of the blue, Prowl appeared and suddenly Knock Out was writhing in pain, currents of electricity running through his body. He fell to the ground, unconscious. Prowl stalked over and yanked the medic's staff from his neck.

"Here." he handed the staff to Optimus, who had vanished and reappeared without a trace. The Prime took it, watching the ninja Autobot with the same curious look he had once sported.

"If you will excuse us," Prowl said, "My ship is in need of much required repair. Blurr, come." He turned and began to walk away on silent feet with the blue and white Guard following.

Bumblebee whirred, tilting his helm at the retreating duo.

"He's right, Optimus," Arcee said. "I'm not sure we should have a pair of Autobots that dangerous roaming the woods. The ninja looks angry enough to kill anything he finds."

"We already have _Swiftlock_," Bulkhead retorted, putting emphasis on the Predacon's name. "Are we sure about this?"

"While I may be unfamiliar in the background of Blurr, I do have recognition in Prowl," Optimus said. "He is a ninja much like Swiftlock, and though he may speak, he is as dangerous, if not more." He turned his helm in the direction of the two, booming, "Prowl and Blurr."

Blurr immediately zoomed back, servo raised in a salute. "Yes, sir!"

The Prime cocked his helm in slight amusement. "It has been decided that you may stay at our base while your ship is repaired."

"Really?" Prowl appeared next to Bulkhead, who looked cautious and frightened. "And what, per se, would this show of camaraderie be the result of?"

The Prime did not seem fazed by Prowl's suspicion, but it was Arcee who spoke. She shoved Smokescreen at Bulkhead with her working arm. "Do you really want to stay out here where you will have no shelter _and_ a damaged ship?"

Blurr spoke for the other. "No, we would not. We will gladly take up your residence as our current home. Won't we, Prowl?" He faced the Autobot, but Prowl said nothing. "Prowl?" He waved his hand in the ninja's face, but when Prowl's doorwings rose to a threatening height, Blurr backed off as the ninja stalked away.

"He'll come," Blurr reassured them, "But I would leave him alone for a while. He's not in a good mood and will most likely attack you if you mess with him." He shot off, only to turn back around and add, "Trust me. It is _not_ a good thing. I should know."


	5. Irritating Hindrances

**A/N: Characters will seem OC (I like to add my own twist on them)**

**Disclaimer: I Own Nothing Except My Ideas...and Swiftlock.**

**Enjoy, read, and review!**

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"_More_ Autobots?" Ratchet scowled as the team entered with Blurr and Prowl. "Isn't one new member enough?" At Swiftlock's growl, he snapped, "It was not a reference to you precisely, only to the fact that we keep adding new members."

Blurr piped up, not knowing of the Autobot medic's fragile temperament. "I do think it highly unlikely that I will be a part of this team, as my time in the fields of battle was very limited, the reason being that I was one of the first protectors of Alpha Trion. Prowl, though," he added, dropping his voice to a whisper, "_He_ is Autobot material. He's been through it all—training, scouting, deductive skills of reasoning, spying and reporting—_all_ of it."

"Yes, yes, how nice," Ratchet muttered. "I'm sure he'll be fine in the field. Swiftlock, come here so I can check the covering and the vitals."

The warrior obliged, keeping his gaze on Blurr as the medic worked.

"It is holding just fine, no need to worry," Ratchet said as Swiftlock shifted from one foot to the other. "You are rather cold, though—have you been out?" The medic fixed his cerulean optics on his patient.

Swiftlock dipped his helm, his gaze snapping up as Blurr suddenly began to shiver violently. His optics were wide and blank, a look so disconcerting on such an energetic being. Ratchet turned, apparently forgetting his task at hand. He frowned at the shaking 'Bot.

"What's wrong?" Arcee asked, forcing herself up and staring in worry at Blurr.

"Can't…" Blurr's shudders became harder, rendering him speechless.

"Get him into the med-bay so I can scan him," Ratchet ordered.

"That will not be necessary." Prowl appeared out of nowhere. He made his way over to the seizing Autobot, leaning down and placing his hands—hands that Arcee and Ratchet noticed were _clawed_—on Blurr's shoulders.

"Calm," the ninja whispered. Blurr shook his helm, clenching his hands into fists.

"You must," Prowl snapped. He leaned closer. "Do you wish for them to know?"

"Know what?" Bulkhead demanded.

Prowl ignored him and his grip tightened on the young Elite Guard's shaking servos. He stared intently at him as if attempting to bore a hole in him. After a moment of tense silence, Blurr froze and collapsed, but Prowl steadied him.

"Take it easy," Ratchet insisted, moving to help. His hand brushed Prowl's servo, and he had to keep from shuddering. The ninja had no warmth—he was as cold as the bodies on Cybertron.

"He has a condition," Prowl explained. "If his hyperspeed ability is used to its extreme, his body becomes weak and unstable."

"I-I d-didn't w-want them to kn-know," Blurr murmured. He seemed winded.

"That does not matter now," Prowl snapped. "You will rest." With that, he turned and vanished into the shadows.

"What was that all about?" Bulkhead demanded. "He's ordering the kid around like he's his pet Scraplet."

"He's not my owner," Blurr hissed, standing and pushing Arcee, who was trying to help, away. "I'm t-training w-with him. He is the b-best Autobot ninja I know."

"Still, he shouldn't boss you around like that," Arcee said. "He can't control you."

Bulkhead and Blurr froze, staring at something behind her. Before she could ask, a deep voice said, "If you have the need of talking behind my back, I would suggest you abandon it and speak to me." Arcee whipped around to see Prowl.

Arcee moved closer to him, forgetting the warnings Blurr had told her. "You don't scare me, and you never will. You're no Megatron."

"I am not attempting to be Megatron," Prowl responded. Ratchet turned to them, a look of suspicion and concentration in his optics. Something was going to happen; the tense atmosphere of the room proved it.

"Your own student is terrified of you. He thinks your temper matches with Megatron's." Arcee stared up at him in anger.

Prowl was not affected by this. He clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his helm at the female Autobot.

Blurr moved closer to his mentor, a strong limp in his weakened left leg. "Arcee, I think it w-would be logical if y-you stop r-right now. Prowl—"

"—can speak for his own." Prowl kept his gaze on Arcee, his doorwings raising. Blurr noticed this and shuddered violently, more out of distress than sickness. Bulkhead noticed the shaking Blurr and felt sympathy for the kid. It wasn't him fighting Arcee, it was his own teacher.

"Arcee, you have made you point," Ratchet snapped. He was already dealing with two injured Autobots, one who was in stasis-lock from extreme Energon loss, the other who was on the verge of collapse. He did not need another as the result of an inconsequential dispute.

"Ratchet, I'm not finished," Arcee barked. "We don't need a conceited ninja for a new member."

"Prowl is not conceited," Blurr growled, his voice holding an unusual menace. "If not, he is anything but. My mentor puts every-bot before himself. He has never left any behind, no matter their classification. He will not abandon." He whipped in between Prowl and Arcee, deliberately slowing his speech down. "So don't you _dare_ tell me otherwise."

"That is enough," a gravelly baritone voice said. Optimus was there, exposing everyone to his stern gaze. "We have already begun on hesitant terms with Swiftlock. Let us not do so again. Is that understood?" He stared at Arcee.

"Sir, we need the help, but an Autobot who is full of himself and convinces his only student that he was the wits to go against Megatron isn't what we need. We—" Arcee cut off as the Prime raised his servo.

"Prowl has been my associate for centuries. He is trustworthy, though his unnerving impassiveness provides a motive for directing that one said emotion off its course." The Prime watched as Prowl worked to calm his student, who was showing signs of a seizure once more. His optics locked onto Prowl's clawed hands.

"You noticed as well?" Ratchet asked. "Did he have them before?"

"Prowl has many secrets," the Prime replied, "But, despite these, he can be trusted. I would not trouble yourself over this, old friend." He gaze swept around the room, and he noticed Prowl was gone.

"Sir?"

Optimus looked down to see Blurr, whose blue-white optics were narrowed in pain as he made his way over to them. Arcee watched worriedly and made to help the Guard, but he scowled and pushed her away.

"I would like to apologize to you," the Autobot said once he was close enough. His speech slowed a little as he continued. "I should not have brought Prowl. He is not a well worker with others."

"The blame is not directed at you, nor your teacher," Optimus reassured the young 'Bot. "Rather, the issue is directed at my own team for not welcoming arriving Autobots."

"Sir, I do regret engaging Swiftlock," Bulkhead said.

"But I don't trust Prowl," Arcee admitted in a bitter tone.

"Do you not trust Prowl, or do you not trust your instincts?" Ratchet said, glancing over his shoulder.

"My instincts work just fine, Ratchet," Arcee snapped. She paused and seemed to recollect herself. "How is Smokescreen?"

"You are changing the subject," Ratchet retorted. "But, if you must know, Smokescreen is in stasis-lock. He lost too much Energon." He turned to face her. "Arcee, what _actually_ happened?"

Arcee scowled. "Knock Out. He's suddenly better at hand-to-hand combat and didn't run when he found them."

"The Decepticon that cares about his paint job more than dying did _this_?"

Arcee shrugged. "I still can't believe it. The kids' 'Mad Doctor' nickname was useful today. He certainly looked insane after he took down Smokescreen."

"Megatron seems to be improving his forces," Optimus said. "He is enhancing the abilities of all his loyal servants, no matter their occupation." He looked at Ratchet. "We must take account for the new warriors we have been granted. Our numbers must grow if we are to fight the Decepticons, and we must succeed for the fate of Cybertron. In fighting has nearly destroyed Megatron's army, and I will not let it destroy us." The Prime fixed his gaze on Blurr, who was leaning against a wall with his optics closed. "Blurr, where is your teacher?"

The Elite Guard shrugged, opening his optics to reveal that they had darkened to blue-black. "I don't know," he murmured. "He is a ninja; he disappears often, though a recommendation I might have is to check the forest. He tends to find Earth nature calming."

The Prime nodded. "Ratchet, reopen the Ground Bridge. "I will—"

Swiftlock moved out of the shadows. He motioned to the glowing Bridge.

"He wants to search for Prowl," Ratchet translated.

"Is that really a good idea?" Bulkhead questioned. "He's only been out once, and having a mech who's almost taller than you, sir, probably isn't a good thing."

"Swiftlock is not some mindless beast," Ratchet said. "He won't harm the humans."

"He nearly killed _me_," Arcee snapped. "What won't stop him from—?"

"Arcee, Bulkhead, that is enough," Optimus ordered in a grave tone. "Swiftlock, you may leave, but I strongly advise you to travel in whatever mode of transportation you have."

Swiftlock dipped his helm, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest, before disappearing through the portal. Ratchet moved over to his computers.

"He still doesn't trust us," Bulkhead realized aloud.

"We do not provide reasons for him to," Ratchet snapped, glaring over his shoulder at the Wrecker.

"How do we know he can find Prowl?" It was Blurr, who was staring at them wearily. "More than half of the time I can't, and he could be in the same room."

"Swiftlock is a Predacon," Ratchet informed the Guard. Before he could answer, the roar of an engine sounded as Bumblebee entered in his alt-mode. His door opened and two humans climbed out.

"—should test your limits, Bee," the shorter one was saying. "You could go two hundred miles per hour, for all we know!"

"Arcee could go faster," the other retorted, shaking his dark hair from his face.

"I would rather you don't share a lady's secrets, Jack," Arcee said. "They're private for a reason."

"Sorry," Jack called from the balcony. "Video game, Raf?"

"Sure," the younger one said, grabbing the controllers. He noticed Blurr, who was watching with a curious and exhausted stare. "Hey Ratchet, who is that?"

"That is Blurr, Rafael," the medic responded. "He is currently unwell, so it would be logical not to bother him."

"Where is Swiftlock?" Jack said.

"He is looking for one of our new members," Ratchet said.

"You lost a member?"

"No, more like he lost us," Arcee said. "He vanished."

"Under Optimus's watch?" Jack questioned, smirking. "I don't—" He stopped, looking around the room. "Where is Miko?"

The others realized the human girl wasn't there.

"I'm scanning the areas for her signature," Ratchet said.

"Your computers can do that?" Arcee said. "I thought they only worked for Cybertronian."

"Not exactly," the medic responded in a bitter tone. "There could be a signature corrupting Swiftlock or Prowl. If my calculations are correct, that signature could be her."

"Then do it already!" Bulkhead shouted. "I don't want either of those clawed scrapheaps hurting her!"

Ratchet pressed a button on his keyboard, turning to glare at the Wrecker. "I know how to do my job. Maybe _you_ should do yours better and keep an eye on Miko."

"Last time I checked, she was with you," Bulkhead snapped.

"Excuse me if saving Smokescreen's life was on the list before watching your pet!" Ratchet growled, displaying the same anger he'd shown hours before as his gaze burned with cold fire.

"Wait, 'saving Smokescreen's life'?" Jack abandoned the video game, worry showing on his face. "What do you mean by that?"

"_Exactly_ that! He comes in with more than seventy-five percent of his Energon gone, all because of a stab wound in his backstrut!" The Autobot was raging now; his hands tightened on his desk and everyone heard it creaking. Arcee attempted to calm him down.

"Ratchet, calm down. It's not your fault Miko left. She—"

"I know she does it all the time." The medic straightened, wrenching his servos from the desk. "Though I highly resent it, Miko is just one human who escapes my watch."

"I'm a what now?"

Everyone turned to see Miko, who was in her regular outfit. She was covered in dust.

"Where were you?" Bulkhead thundered.

"It's called 'detention'. I think you've heard of it?"

"And you didn't bother telling me?"

Miko stopped and stared at her guardian. "I shouldn't have to. I have it every day after school." At his surprised look, she added, "You forgot _again_? I had to call Wheeljack for pick-up. I was waiting for hours."

"Don't expect me to do it every day." Wheeljack appeared, looking more annoyed than usual. His white paint was covered in dust, giving him the impression that he had sped through the desert. "My ship needs boosted thrusters and they aren't going to do it themselves." He stared at the resting Blurr for a moment, taking him in with the same scrutiny of a law enforcer.

"No one bothered to tell me about our new member?" The Wrecker fixed his cold glare on them, though it lingered on Bulkhead the longest.

"It's not our fault you've been out of communication range," Arcee pointed out. "We're not the ones who turn off their comm-links at any possible chance."

"Would _you_ like to hear incessant rambling for hours?" Wheeljack snapped, fire blazing in his glare.

"That is enough, you two," Ratchet barked. "Wheeljack, help me get Blurr into med-bay."

"What's wrong with him?" He sounded slightly bitter as he moved over to the Elite Guard.

Blurr opened his optics as Wheeljack neared him, scowling as he took in the Wrecker. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Blurr, this is Wheeljack," Arcee explained. "He's helping you into med-bay."

"I only need rest," the Guard countered. "Those were Prowl's orders."

"Well, Prowl isn't here," Arcee retorted. "Ratchet just wants to check your vitals."

"My vitals are fine. I will rest, like Prowl said." Blurr glared at the female warrior.

"Prowl doesn't control you," Arcee insisted.

"I never said he did," Blurr snapped. "He is my teacher, not my master."

"Come on, kid," Wheeljack said. "Nothing bad is going to happen, if that's what you're worried about."

"_No_." Blurr was becoming angrier by the minute, his optics changing from blue-black to a fiery blue so bright they were nearly white. "I follow Prowl's orders, not yours."

At that moment, Ratchet's computer beeped, tearing the medic's attention away. When he pressed the receive button, a growl answered, making everyone turn in confusion.

"You are cleared for entrance," the medic continued, reopening the Ground Bridge. Swiftlock entered, followed by Prowl. Blurr's dark mood lightened a bit, his optics flashing.

"Prowl—" he began, only to falter as his mentor leaned against the wall, his doorwings raising. They noticed one of them was bent and splattered with Energon, as if it had been pressed to the point of damage.

Blurr murmured something to Prowl, whose only response was the raising of his doorwings. The Guard nodded and faced Ratchet.

"I am not the one in need of medical assistance." As he was still exhausted, his speech was slower, albeit cold and bitter. "See to it that he is helped." Blurr turned and transformed, speeding off.

"Prowl, can you speak?" Ratchet said. The Autobot didn't respond. Ratchet moved closer to him, hesitating as the ninja's clawed hands left deep gouges in the wall.

Swiftlock snarled, his servo resting on his sword.

"Calm yourself," the medic snapped, his gaze not straying. His tone made the massive warrior hesitate, though his black and red glare stayed on Prowl.

"Are you capable of movement?" Ratchet said as the Autobot shifted. His doorwings shuddered, and the broken one creaked. In response to the medic's question, he nodded, forcing himself to stand.

Ratchet steadied his patient, acting as a crutch to get him to the medical bay. As the others followed, he snapped, "Work cannot be done if I am watched by a group of Autobots as distracting as Scraplets." As the medic was still in a foul mood from previous moments, the others took this as a warning and left.

"I would think that you would deliver my teacher with more haste." Blurr was there. He seemed to have calmed somewhat, though his optics were still blazing blue-white. He watched as the medic, ignoring the Guard's comment, took out his scanner and ran it over Prowl.

"How did this happen?" Ratchet questioned, fixing his gaze on Swiftlock, who had stayed despite the medic's anger.

Swiftlock made a low rumbling sound in response, and the medic nodded. "You found him like this. Was there any evidence of a struggle?"

The mute warrior shook his helm.

The medic stared into space, deep in thought. Was it possible that Prowl had done this to himself?

The said Autobot shuddered, hissing in pain as his broken wing moved. He fixed his gaze on Ratchet. "Is it logical to…conclude that I would do this?" His voice was low and the medic recognized the exhausted tone.

"If your injuries were not acquired by your own doings, then what happened?" Ratchet pinned his searching gaze on the ninja, who did not respond. "Prowl," he continued, scanning the Autobot for unseen injuries only to realize that he was going into temporary stasis-lock.

"By the AllSpark, if you do this, Blurr will never let me hear the end of it." The medic hooked a wire to the ninja's arm.

"No, I will not." Blurr stirred, approaching the medic but fixing his sights on his teacher. "Do you wish for me to tell or not? He will find out in time anyway."

Prowl did not respond. He seemed frozen.

Blurr faced Ratchet. "He is suffering from the effects of turning his emotional center on."

"He can do that?" the medic demanded. No one, not even during the War, could do that.

Blurr nodded. "It is a trait he has had for some time. However, if it is left off-line for too long, the emotional section of his processor begins to fight, taking strength that remains as well as his sanity." His optics darted to his teacher for a moment. "He does not favor the fact of doing this in the company of others, so he will isolate himself, as he has been doing for centuries." He shifted from foot to foot, wincing as his weakened leg moved. "His strength is being sapped by his own mind. You need to restore it, else he will go into stasis-lock, another side effect despite the fact that no Energon has been lost." The Guard seemed to be gradually recovering from his fatigue, and his speech pattern was slowly coming back up to speed.

The medic nodded, waving his hand dismissively. "Leave, then. I will need no distractions."

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**Review and please tell me if there are any grammatical/spelling errors!**

**Do you like my version of Prowl and Blurr? **

**A/N: I have had people who don't know about TFA ask me if Blurr is overweight. Seeing as he has the power of hyperspeed, he is not. Kind of like Flash from Justice League. He isn't overweight, now, is he? Just clearing things up.**

**Another A/N: Sorry for the crappy way of explaining Prowl's emotional center glitch. I'll explain in more detail in later chapters.**


	6. Anxious Explanations

**I guess I could say this story is slightly AU, only because of how I have changed Prowl and Blurr.**

**Nothing else really to say, so enjoy, read, and review! Feel free to PM me should anything concerning or confusing come up.**

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"What's going on?" Bulkhead demanded once Blurr entered. "What happened back there?"

"Nothing that will concern you," the Guard snapped. He pushed past them and went out to the clearing.

"He's worse than Ratchet," Wheeljack said, twisting his sword out of its sheath and cleaning something that looked unnervingly similar to Energon from its blade.

"Optimus said not to start on bad terms with them," Bulkhead said. "I don't think we've followed his orders." Wheeljack laughed at that as he headed to the docking bay.

"We can't do that if they keep snapping at us," Arcee retorted.

"Why are they doing it?" Jack was up on the balcony, his attention fixed on them. "I mean, are you giving them a reason to?"

Wheeljack's voice echoed towards them. "I can name two."

"I dare you to," Arcee called back.

At that moment, the door to Ratchet's lab opened. The medic entered, looking as bitter and cold as ever.

"Well? What's going on?"

"That is confidential," the medic responded, heading to his computer and pressing something. "Optimus, we haven't heard anything. How is the search going?"

"_My finds are scarce, Ratchet_," the Prime replied. "_The Decepticons are hungrier for Energon than we have realized. Prepare a Ground Bridge_."

Ratchet reopened the Bridge, and Optimus entered with a chunk of Energon in his servo.

"Swiftlock found Prowl. If you wish to speak to him, he is in the medical bay," Ratchet informed the Prime. "Blurr is nearly recovered and on the clearing." He watched as Optimus entered the med-bay.

Prowl was there, on his feet. He was examining one of Ratchet's tools, his fingers tracing the object's circuitry. His broken doorwing was strapped in a brace to prevent further injury.

"Yes?" The ninja spoke without turning, and his voice was harsh and cold.

"Ratchet informed me of your whereabouts." The Prime was unfazed by the Autobot's temper.

"Did he speak to you of anything else?"

"No. If you have something you wish to tell me, you may do so whenever you desire."

Prowl faced Optimus. "There is no sense in giving you my secrets, no matter our past. The War is over. Cybertron is dead. Who do you fight for?"

"Megatron still ensures his cruel reign controls others. His tyrannical rule has reached this planet, and our quest for the Omega Keys will not be strayed."

"The Omega Keys," Prowl repeated. "They are here?"

"Alpha Trion has granted us access to the coordinates, as well as—"

"—the Starsaber." Prowl leaned against the shelf near him. "My ship picked up its signal, though I could sense its energy signature." He stared at the Prime. "I cannot sense it anymore. It was destroyed?"

"By Megatron," Optimus confirmed. "He has created his own with the Forge of Solus Prime."

"The Forge is here as well?" Beneath his visor, his optics narrowed. "How did it come to be in Megatron's hands?"

"The Decepticons uncovered it. More Iacon Relics wait to be found."

The ninja vented. "There are many secrets this planet is keeping from us."

"The planet is not the only one." The Autobot leader's gaze became stern. It was as close to a scolding glare he would do.

"You, of all people, should recognize the symptoms," Prowl retorted. "You know it would happen sooner or later." He sighed again. "Even after all these centuries, it cannot be restrained."

"It is in your knowledge on the fact of how to do so," Optimus stated. "You are capable of controlling it."

"Do you recall what happened when the squadron of Vehicons captured me?" The Praxian was staring hard into the distance.

"That is the past. Do not let it haunt you."

"Oh, but it does. It haunts me; it _hunts_ me, waiting for the right moment."

"If you don't mind my asking, _what_ haunts you?" Ratchet was in the doorway.

Prowl stared at the medic, his clawed hands scraping gouges into the tool he was holding.

"I would appreciate it if you did not touch my tools. They are fragile." Ratchet glared sharply at the ninja, who stared back. Optimus watched, prepared in case something would occur.

"Many things are fragile," Prowl said. "It is how you handle them that matter." He handed the object to Ratchet, who scowled slightly as he set it back on his desk.

"Have you collected yourself?" the medic questioned.

Prowl said nothing as he left the room without a sound.

**. . . **

"Report."

"My liege, we failed to acquire the arriving Autobots." The Seeker bowed low.

The Decepticon leader growled. "Did you manage to acquire anything other than failure?"

Soundwave stepped forward. An image of shuriken flashed on his featureless face.

Megatron's eyes narrowed. "So, the spy returns."

"My lord." A blue and gold Seeker, Dreadwing, came forward. "Forgive my impudence, but what is the importance of capturing these Autobots?"

"Have you not had a history lesson?" Knock Out appeared in the shadows, his red optics blazing. There was Energon covering and dripping from his servos. "These two have a past worthy of our liege's attention."

"_What_ have you been doing?" Starscream demanded. Knock Out's optics narrowed, but before he could snap, Breakdown intervened.

"He is in a foul mood," the massive Decepticon stated. "He nearly killed an Autobot."

"The key word is _'nearly',"_ Starscream retorted. "He's too much of a coward to do so."

"You want to test that theory?" the Decepticon CMO hissed. The Energon on his servos stood out. "I could kill you any day."

"I would like to see you try." A smug grin crossed the heeled Decepticon's faceplate.

Before Knock Out could respond, Megatron faced them. His red optics were glowing dangerously.

"Starscream, send out your Armada and search for them," he ordered.

"At once, my liege," the Seeker answered, bowing and leaving.

"Knock Out." The Decepticon leader spoke as the medic began to leave.

He turned. "Yes, my liege?"

"Do try and keep the blood of your victims hidden from sight. I do not desire uneasiness plaguing my army. Your varied personality, as well as your experiments, already causes troubles."

Knock Out bowed. "Yes, my lord. I will try."

Megatron did not miss the fanged grin the CMO exposed. Inwardly, he sighed in exasperation.

_Some secrets are meant to be buried._

**. . . **

The door to the clearing. Arcee stepped out, her gaze sweeping across the land. She noticed Blurr on the cliff edge, his legs over the edge. His helm was bowed, and he did not move as she approached him.

"How long have you been out here?"

The Guard did not respond.

"Blurr, did you hear me? How long—?"

"I heard you, Arcee. My auditory receptors are not broken." His voice was low and calm.

"You still didn't answer my question."

Blurr exhaled slowly. "A few hours, if you wish to be critical."

"I wasn't—"

"Don't lie." He brought his functioning leg up to him. "You and the others, are you always this way? I would feel bad for any newcomer, whether Autobot or Decepticon." He paused, but not long enough for Arcee to speak. "Excuse me if I sound insulting, but you, it seems, are the most judgmental. I am surprised you get along with your teammates, let alone stand them, and that they get along with you."

"You have no right to say that," Arcee snapped.

"I have every right you have." He paused, and Arcee noticed the slight shaking of his servos. "So, if you are telling me I have no right to say something, you might as well tell yourself the same thing."

"I came out here to see if you were okay, not so you could chastise me."

Blurr was quiet for a moment, and then he made a noise similar to a cough. "I did not mean to offend you, as I motioned earlier. I am not in a good mood, and it is not like I have been made to feel welcome." He glanced at her, and his optics flashed white before returning to their dark blue color.

"We have been trying to make you feel so, but with your teacher nearly attacking me—"

"Would he have had the impulse to attack if someone had not had the nerve to compare him to an evil, bloodthirsty warlord?"

Arcee hesitated ever so slightly, and Blurr laughed until it turned into a harsh cough. She made to help him, but she stopped when he said, "Do not touch me."

"Are you sure you're okay?" She was concerned, as the young Guard's servos were shaking more violently now.

"Meditation slows my condition's attacks on my body. I was doing fine until I was distracted." He closed and inhaled deeply. All was silent, and when Blurr didn't speak again, she left.

Inside, Bumblebee was playing a video game with Raf and Miko; Jack was gone, most likely at work. Ratchet was speaking to Optimus while he checked Smokescreen's vitals, and Bulkhead, Prowl, and Swiftlock were nowhere to be found.

"How's he doing?" She headed over to Ratchet, who looked down at her.

"He's stabilizing, but his Energon levels will need to be raised tremendously. He should wake in a few days at least."

Arcee nodded. "Where did Bulkhead and Swiftlock go to?"

Ratchet answered, "Swiftlock is in the forest. Bulkhead is searching for more Energon, since our scout is currently occupied."

At this, Bumblebee whirred, his optics shifting as he motioned wildly with his hands.

Optimus raised a servo to calm the scout. "All is well, Bumblebee. You have already executed your time."

Bumblebee whirred at Ratchet, making a noise similar to a mocking laugh.

"Were you outside with Blurr?" Ratchet questioned.

Arcee nodded. "He told me he was fine until I came out. he started seizing again, but not that much." She looked around. "Where is Prowl?"

"He had been here, but he vanished after our conversation with him," Ratchet explained.

"How are we going to have a good new member if he keeps disappearing?" Arcee demanded.

"Arcee," Optimus rumbled. "I have expressed the matter of trust, as well as the importance of it. We will not touch it again."

"With all due respect, Optimus—"

"Arcee." Ratchet was glaring at her now, and the female warrior sighed angrily and turned away, transforming and speeding off.

"Observe all frequencies. Keep them open if Prowl desires to contact us," Optimus ordered Ratchet, who turned his back and fulfilled the order, watching as the Prime went out to the clearing.

"With all due respect, Optimus," Blurr began, his voice quiet and somewhat hoarse, "I have already spoken with Arcee, and it did not go well."

"The fact is recognizable," the Prime stated. "But I did not come here to speak about you."

Blurr coughed. "You wish to know more about Prowl." He twisted around and looked up at the massive Prime. "Am I correct?"

Optimus nodded, ever so slightly.

"I should make myself more presentable, then." The Guard attempted to stand, but his weak leg would not allow him to do so.

"You do not have to." The Autobot leader moved closer to him. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

"Do you know of your teacher's condition?"

"If you are referring to his processor effect, then yes. But I know that is not what you mean." He paused and began to cough harshly.

"I do not require medical attention," Blurr said, voicing the Prime's thoughts. "The attacks are getting worse, that is all." He faced the Autobot leader. "You were speaking of Prowl's condition. What do you want to know?"

"I have known Prowl for millennia. Most likely I will know what you will and more in addition." He fixed his gaze on the Guard. "What is in your knowledge of the Decepticon Squadron that captured your teacher?"

Blurr shrugged. "He had left Yoketron's training about half a century ago. They had interrogated him, and he wouldn't tell anything. In the end, he attacked them and killed all of them." He let out a deep vent, his servos shaking slightly. "There were more than five hundred of them there. That is what I know. Is that your version?" He was looking at Optimus now.

"I was there," the Prime stated. His gravelly voice lowered a few octaves. "No rendezvous signals were given, and his signal was out of reach."

"Who rescued—" Blurr faltered, clenching his hands into fists. "—who brought him back?"

"Team Prime was not established, as the War was not over. Your teacher was trapped in the Pits of Kaon, and the Autobot and Decepticon factions had already formed. Megatron meant to extract the Autobots' intentions with their scientist Shockwave's Cortical Psychic Patch. Prowl is able to resist the mind search, no matter his age or current position." The Prime looked down at Blurr. "It was Arcee who led Prowl out of Kaon. She was accompanied by her first partner, Tailgate." The Prime watched as the Guard jerked back in surprise.

"This was the event before Tailgate was murdered, was it not?" The Guard was trembling now as he stared out into the distance.

"Yes, it was." Optimus's voice did not waver. "Airachnid captured him soon after."

"Is that why she dislikes Prowl?" Blurr's voice lowered, filled with a sudden anger. "Is _that_ why she compared him to a tyrannical lunatic who is nowhere near as insane as him?"

"That is the reason. She will never forget."

"This happened nearly seven centuries ago and she still holds a grudge." Blurr was on his feet now, limping to the door. Optimus followed him inside.

"Blurr, are you—?" Ratchet was cut off as the young Guard transformed and sped off at a speed too dizzying to watch.

"Sir?" Bulkhead was staring in the direction Blurr had gone in. "Is everything okay?"

"All is well, Bulkhead. Blurr is young. He will calm down in due course."

* * *

**Like, hate, okay? Review, pleaze!**


	7. Past Visits

**I**'**ve got a Breaking Benjamin song stuck in my head..**

**..Dear agony, just let go of me, suffer slowly...is this the way it's gotta be? Don't bury me, faceless enemy, I'm so sorry, is this the way it's gotta be? Dear agony...Leave me alone, God let me go, I'm blue and cold, black sky will burn. Love pull me down, hate lift me up, just turn around, there's nothing left...**

**Don't worry, nothing depressing or agonizing or sad here...just had to get it out.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Starscream flew through the sky. He was grateful to have his wings back, though it did not make him feel any more caring towards Megatron.

On his radar, a signal popped up. It wasn't Decepticon.

"My liege, we have located an Autobot signature. We will approach at your order."

_"__Capture and disarm only, Starscream. I need this one alive. Fail me, and your sparkless husk will be a reminder to those who dare disobey me."_

"Yes, my lord." He addressed his Seekers. "My armada, corner the Autobot! Do not show hostile behavior." The former Decepticon lieutenant's voice lowered. "He may be of use."

* * *

Prowl moved silently through the tree canopies, ignoring the rain. He needed to calm down and reorganize his processor. It would not be controlled for long and there was no need to break down in front of the others.

He stopped suddenly, sitting and balancing on a branch.

_Do not lose control. Keep your hold. Do not lose control. Keep your hold. Do not—_

The ninja opened his optics, sweeping his gaze across the clearing. He dulled his emotions, enhancing his senses.

Inhaling deeply, he scanned the area. There were footsteps, made by a male Cybertronian of about twenty feet. The scent of fresh Energon filled the area, and he scowled, moving to another tree.

"I know you're up there, Autobot. Come down and I'll make this easy." A deep voice echoed up from the ground.

"Would I do this to please you or to prevent from being shot?"

"Your choice."

* * *

Knock Out moved down the forest path. The organic life was quiet, as if it sensed him going through the trees. He kept his sensors open, looking for the Autobot. Starscream has put him on land patrol, since he was 'one of _those_ ones', although it was Megatron who had ordered the search that _would not_ end in an enemy casualty.

The CMO froze, sweeping his gaze over the clearing he as in. "I know you're here, Autobot. Come out and I'll make this easy."

A voice drifted from the trees. "Would I do this to please you or to prevent from being shot?"

A sadistic grin crossed the Decepticon's faceplate. "Your choice. You'll come down either way, alive or dead." It was a small lie, as he had no long-range weapons, but he could just as easily off-line the Autobot without them.

Leaves rustled in front of him, and a tall black and gold Autobot appeared. He didn't seem much of a threat, despite the traces of Circuit Sioux and Metallikato training from—Knock Out narrowed his optics, searching—Yoketron.

"It has been a while since I have seen one of your types around," the Autobot said.

"What would you mean by that?" His gaze followed him as he began to circle him like a Predacon stalking its prey.

"You know very well what I mean." His voice was cold. "Irrational impulses, control—all because of one Cybertronian…"

"…one we both knew well," Knock Out finished. His grin resurfaced. "You show signs of restraint."

"You do not. Who have you taken?"

The medic's optics blazed. "No one you'll need to worry about."

"Would that include—?"

"—your _teammate?"_ the medic hissed with a note of insanity, making the Autobot slow ever so slightly. "He was a burden. He would have died sooner or later."

"By your hands, all because of a grudge." The ninja noticed the medic's optics narrow. He continued anyways, "A grudge that would risk your secret."

"It is not only _my_ secret. I am not the only victim."

The Autobot froze, his doorwings rising. "Do not blame our sensei."

"He knew _exactly_ what was going to happen, and he still let us train! He _let_ us get infected, become like this!" The Decepticon's scowl exposed fangs, and this only solidified his statement.

"How was he to know? Even Blackheath did not." Despite the CMO's anger, the Autobot's voice was calm and collected.

"Blackheath was a fool who knew nothing, no matter his power," the Decepticon spat. The Autobot turned, his doorwings twitching.

Knock Out noticed this. "Did I hit a nerve? The great Prowl, Autobot ninja and Yoketron's best student, has feelings?"

"That answer is obvious."

Knock Out sneered. "Just like your optics?"

Suddenly the Autobot was dangerously close. "The cause of this is clear."

"Then why don't you take the visor off?"

Prowl hissed, shaking his helm. "You know I—"

"Knock Out!"

An F-16 Fighter jet appeared, white and black Vehicon Seekers flanking it. They transformed, revealing Starscream and his armada.

"You are supposed to _detain_ the Autobot, not start a conversation!" Starscream said.

Prowl faced the Decepticon. "I am assuming you are Starscream, the Decepticon pariah?"

Starscream fumed. "You would be wise to watch your tone, Autobot."

"Save the dramatics, Starscream," Knock Out growled. "Lord Megatron wants us to deliver, not focus on other inconsequential matters."

"I see no reason on why you're telling me this, Knock Out, when you were delaying his capture as well." Starscream glared at the medic, who glared back until the Seeker moved away, his wings twitching.

"Our liege grows impatient," one of the Seekers, black scars scoring his wings and chest, said. "We have the Autobot. It is logical to leave."

"You opinion was not allowed expression," the medic snapped.

"I command my armada, not you!" Starscream pointed an accusing finger at the CMO. He faced the Vehicon. "You, Blackwing, were not ordered to speak."

Blackwing's crimson gaze narrowed. "I am not one of your servants, Starscream. I answer only to Megatron."

"Why you—!" Starscream cut off as Knock Out interrupted.

"We should be putting on stasis cuffs and leaving," he said, glaring at one Vehicon as he began to object. Starscream noticed how dangerously bright the medic's optics were, and trepidation overtook him.

"I am commanding officer here, not you!" he snapped.

The CMO turned on him. "How many times do you have to say it, Herr Kommandant? I'm sure we're all tired of hearing it."

Before the Seeker could answer, their comm-links whirred to life.

"_Starscream, have you captured the Autobot_?"

"Yes, my liege. We are—" The Decepticon froze as he turned.

Prowl was gone.

"_Starscream_." The voice was brimming with black anger.

"We've had a setback. It really is amusing, if you think out about it—"

"_What happened_?"

"The Autobot has escaped, my liege," Blackwing answered, cutting of Starscream.

A growl echoed ominously in their auditory receptors. "_Return to the warship. We cannot waste limited Energon_."

"As you wish, my liege," Blackwing said as the line disconnected. They all transformed and flew away. Knock Out lingered, staring into the forest.

_You may have escaped, but nothing will stop me._

"B-19," he said to the nearest Miner Vehicon. "Can I have a word with you?"

* * *

**Sorry for how short this is. Read and review, pleaze!**

**Also, I've received reviews saying you guys are looking up Swiftlock and Blackwing? FYI, these guys are MY characters. Just letting you know. Check out their bios on my profile page!**


	8. Dear Agony and The Anthem

**Chapter Eight...yeah.**

**I can't remember if I said I'd stop posting soon, so there's your warning. Band camp.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Another set of coordinates has been decoded," Optimus announced. He faced the waiting Autobots.

"Don't you want Blurr to come?" Arcee questioned the Prime. "He was useful earlier."

"He is currently indisposed at the moment," Ratchet said. "He left."

"And now I am back." Blurr appeared out of nowhere behind her, making her spin around.

"No one cleared you for battle," Ratchet snapped.

"I have been dealing with my condition for centuries." At Ratchet's look of disdain, Blurr's optics flashed white. "I know when to stop. If I do not, I would seize on the battlefield. Do you think I would want this to happen?"

"Optimus, what is your opinion?" Ratchet fixed his irritated stare on his leader.

"Blurr, you will stay here, acknowledging the fact that you are currently unwell and that I am asking you to wait for Prowl," the massive Prime stated. "Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee will accompany me."

Blurr nodded, his optics going back to blue-black. "Yes, sir." He moved out of the way, his face impassive, as the others left. When they did, he faced Ratchet.

"You are Ratchet, yes? The infamous Autobot medic who treated even the most gruesome of wounds?" The Guard stared intently at the Autobot.

Ratchet's thoughts drifted momentarily to the result of the Tyger Pax raid, but he forced them away. "You know who I am. Why do you ask?"

"I heard your name during the War repeatedly, though I had never seen you until I entered this base." The Autobot's optics flashed as he continued to stare at the medic to the point of slight discomfort and irritation.

"Blurr, you must likely saw me in the fields when you did not realize it," Ratchet informed the Guard.

"That is not what I mean," Blurr retorted.

Before the medic could answer, the computer before him beeped.

"_I require a Ground Bridge_." It was Prowl.

"You have some explaining to do," the elder 'Bot muttered, opening the portal.

A moment later, the tall Praxian entered. His faceplate revealed no emotion.

"Where have you been?" Ratchet explained.

"It is logical to assume I was out, as I clearly was," the Praxian replied.

"With no permission?"

Prowl's doorwings flicked outward, and Blurr noticed this, hurriedly saying, "Prowl should not have to ask permission. He is not a rookie like me."

"We have enough indisposed resources," Ratchet retorted. "Having members that leave whenever they want is not beneficial to our cause."

"According to the files, you already have a member who leaves whenever he desires," Blurr snapped, optics flashing white. "I see no reason to bother my teacher about it while allowing the grenade-lover to roam free."

"Wheeljack is a lone wolf," Ratchet stated. "Authority cannot restrain him."

"I know that," Blurr snapped. "Every Guard-in-training has to read about the Wreckers. If you like this 'Wheeljack', as you call him, so much, then why is he still missing?"

Ratchet was not prepared for this statement. "What do you—?"

"What he means is that if you cared for your comrade so much, would you let him roam as you do?" Prowl appeared behind the medic. Ratchet scowled and began to answer, but before he could, an incessant beeping cut him off.

It was coming from Smokescreen's monitor.

* * *

A sleek, slim jet flew through the air, high in the clouds and far from any signs of life.

"_How long until ve get zhere?"_ a voice in his head demanded furiously. "_I am itching to pound an Autobot into scrap metal!"_

"_Ooh, vill I get a turn? I vant to! Can I, can I, can I?" _another voice said, laughing maniacally.

"Ve vill be zhere shortly," the dominant personality stated coolly.

"_Aw, Icy, you said zat ze last time!"_

Icy sighed, about as fed up with his other personalities as he would get. But before he could answer, a voice interjected.

"_You are entering restricted air space. Identify yourself_."

"_How dare zhese pathetic lumps of flesh demand our designation! I vill destroy zhem!"_

"Let us not jump to illogical conclusions," Icy stated calmly. "Zhis is se vay ze humans check zheir air security."

"_Ooh, can ve do zat? I'll vear a hat and get a gun_—"

"_Fool! You already have blasters!"_

"_Repeat: you are in restricted air space. Identify or be grounded_."

_"Puny human! I vill destroy you!"_

"Hothead," the dominant personality scolded.

_"Don't 'Hothead' me, Icy!"_

"_Ve should all calm down and take deep ventilations. Ve vill vear hula skirts and sing songs_—"

"Random!" both Hothead and Icy snapped.

"_Ze itsy-bitsy spider climbed up ze vater spout. Down came ze rain and vashed ze spider out_—"

The jet jerked as an EMP ray hit him, temporarily making his systems malfunction.

Icy growled, temper flaring.

"_Oh, no, zey've done it again! Ahahahaha!"_ The jet spun around, missiles ready.

"_Unknown aircraft is hostile. Repeat: hostile action has been shown. Take down with extreme prejudice_."

"_Inferior life forms!'_ Hothead roared. "_I vill_—"

"Hothead," Icy hissed, struggling to contain his alternate personality.

"_Do **not** reprimand me_!"

"Do _you_ vish to turn into a tank and plunge into ze icy vaters below us? I vill handle zhis."

_"But—"_

"**_I_ **vill handle it."

"_He'll handle it, he'll handle it! Handle, gamble, framble! Ahahaha_!"

"Language," Icy scolded.

The human aircraft had company. All had mounted fifty caliber machine guns, ready to fire. Icy assessed the situation, scanners on high.

_Assessing situation. Five F-16 Fighter Jets, manufactured by North American aviation companies. Armed with internal, M61 Vulcan cannons and hidden missiles, bombs, and pods stored in carious locations. Airframe composed of eight percent aviation grade alloys, eight percent steel, three percent composites, and one point five percent titanium. Tailerons, flaps, and ventral fins composed of bonded aluminum honeycomb structure and graphite epoxy laminate. Scanning… weakest point in left wing joint._

_"Ooh, Icy, can I fire? Huh, huh, can I? Please, please, please, please, please?"_

Icy didn't respond, his tracker locking on the nearest jet, guns ready. But before he could fire, a voice interjected.

"_Do not open fire, triple-changer. These insignificant beings are not worth it_."

"Who is zhis?" His sights were still locked on the F-16s.

"_Your commanding officer_."

"_It took him long enough to find us!"_ Hothead roared.

"_Yeah, zhese humans are annoying—like Hothead! Ahahaha!"_

"_Random, I svear if you insult me one more time_—"

"_One more time! La la la la la! Ahahaha!"_

"_If you are finished arguing with yourself_," the voice continued, "_Our liege wishes to speak with you_." An F-16 appeared, but according to Icy's scanners it was a Decepticon.

"_Ooh, ooh! I know who zat is! Do you know, Hothead? Huh, huh, huh?!"_

"_Yes, I know, you fool! It is Starscream!"_

"_We really must be going now_," Starscream continued. "_Follow me_."

* * *

"That's not supposed to be happening, is it?" Blurr questioned.

Ratchet ignored the Guard's comment, heading over to his patient's berth. "His spark rate is increasing erratically. Blurr, bring me the medical-grade."

The Guard looked to Prowl, who gave the slightest of nods. He zoomed to the med-bay's storage room.

"Does he really require your permission for everything?" the medic said to the Praxian.

"He does not favor the act of asking another," he replied, his gaze fixed on Smokescreen. "What is happening?"

"His body is going into a seizure, despite the fact that he is in stasis-lock. To fix this, we have to restock its Energon reserves. He may seize when he wakes, but he will have something other than fumes fueling him."

"Here's the Energon." Blurr appeared, carrying two large cubes. Ratchet took them from him, filling an Energon drip with most of it and hooking it up to Smokescreen.

Smokescreen's optics shot open, and his body jerked. His chest heaved and he gasped. Blurr made to help, but Ratchet held him back.

"Let him adjust."

The Guard stayed back, shifting from pede to pede and attempting to stop the shaking of his servos. Prowl placed a servo on his student's shoulder and Blurr visibly relaxed.

Smokescreen's ventilations evened and his optics searched the room, landing on Ratchet. "Ratchet…"

The medic raised a servo to cut him off. "Ah, ah, ah. Don't talk. You are still immeasurably weak."

"What… happened?"

Ratchet scowled at the other for disobeying his order. "It's long a story."

* * *

"The ship isn't far," Starscream informed the triple-changer.

"_Does he think us blind?!_" Hothead demanded. "_We can sense it!"_

"Enough, Hothead," Icy muttered, following the lieutenant. They both transformed and entered the _Nemesis_.

Inside, Vehicons milled about, fulfilling orders. Nearby, Blackwing watched the passing mechs, his crimson gaze as cold as ice. They soon came to the meeting room.

"Lord Megatron, I have brought someone." The Seeker bowed low as the massive Decepticon leader turned. At the sight of Blitzwing, his optics narrowed.

"Blitzwing. It has been a while."

"Forgive my absence, my liege. I was not aware of your presence on this planet."

"Why would this be?" Megatron questioned.

"I have had troubles with my scanners—"

"—_which are nothing but scrap metal! We can fix it ourselves!"_

"_Lalalalala! We'll all sing while we do so! Ahahaha!"_

Megatron arched an optic ridge, turning away from the triple-changer. "Where is Knock Out?"

"In his lab, my liege," Starscream answered. "He was behaving rather strangely after the… incident with the Autobot ninja."

"Send for him," the warlord instructed, his thoughts elsewhere. What had he done now?

* * *

All was quiet in the Autobot base. Smokescreen had calmed, and both he and Blurr were resting. Prowl sat meditating in the far corner, and Ratchet was at his computer.

"He woke up earlier?"

The medic turned to see Arcee, whose gaze held the slightest hint of concern. "Yes, he did."

"Was he okay?"

"If your definition of 'okay' is being immeasurably low on Energon and barely able to speak, then yes, he was okay."

"Aw, Ratch. Don't…be so…hard."

They turned. Smokescreen was facing them, a weak smile on his faceplate. His optics were flickering, and despite his look of amusement, the slightest hint of pain and exhaustion showed.

"Can I…get up…yet?"

"No, you cannot. You can barely speak, let alone move." The medic turned to stare sternly at the Praxian.

"Ease up, Ratchet," Arcee said, placing a hand on his servo. "He's probably disoriented."

"No. I'm—" He cut off, closing his optics and falling eerily silent.

"Smokescreen?"

"He is only resting." Blurr stirred, coming only halfway from recharge as he faced the two. "Talking does a number of him."

"As it does on you," Ratchet snapped. In the corner, Prowl opened his optics, standing and heading over to the two.

"Blurr, rest. Ratchet," the unnervingly calm Praxian stated, "I would like a word with you."

"I cannot just abandon my post to have a chat!" the medic snapped.

The spy was unfazed by his temper. "Arcee, you have seen and dealt with battlefield injuries, have you not?"

"Yes." She looked surprised and suspicious.

"Then you are equipped to watch." The ninja turned and vanished.

"Does he honestly think I'm going to—?"

"Please." Blurr limped over, steadying himself with the wall. "Just go."

"What—?" The medic cut off, grumbling beneath his breath. "Fine, fine." He headed in the direction the Praxian had gone in.

"Blurr, is there something wrong with Prowl?" Arcee asked suddenly as she adjusted the setting on Smokescreen's Energon drip.

"Why would you be concerned for my teacher's well-being? You have already proved your immense dislike for him," the Guard muttered.

Arcee stared at the young Autobot, taking in his weakened state. His limp was growing ever stronger from his use of his injured leg and his refusal to recharge in a proper medical berth, and like Smokescreen's, his optics were flickering, from white to blue-black. She could not help but notice that, despite this, whenever the strange Praxian was mentioned around him by her, he seemed to abandon all fatigue and sickness, gathering his strength to snap at her.

"Look, I…" She trailed off, muttering inaudible words beneath her breath. "I insult people all of the time, whether I'm joking or not. I _make_ my dislike show, so the said persons will leave me alone."

"There is no point in doing that. _What_ is the point?" he hissed. "So you do not like someone; it does not mean you have to _force_ them to not like you." Blurr vented harshly, leaning against the wall with his weight on his uninjured leg. "He would have cooperated with you. He would have spoken to you, more than the small amount said during missions. He would have benefited from such a liking on his newfound team. But _no_, you had to compare him with _Megatron_, of all people!" His optics blazed. "You had to compare him with a warlord! A mass-murderer! His own sensei was murdered by Megatron, right before his very eyes! And you dare—_you dare_—have the nerve, the _stomach,_ to judge Prowl based on the inconsequential acts of murder committed here by a Decepticon tyrant!"

Arcee glared. "You think I don't know what Megatron is capable of? He's killed my friends, my _family_. People I cared about!"

"Oh, cry me a river!" the Guard growled, his temper flaring. "What he did here is _nothing_ compared to what I've seen! I was a Guard of the Halls of Iacon, one of Alpha Trion's _first_ protectors! I had to keep my post as Cybertronians were massacred in front of me." His voice cracked. "I had to keep an emotionless composure while my friends were shot at, blown up, and sliced to pieces! I could not blink, could not _move_, unless absolutely necessary! And guess what?" He stared at her with shining optics, a somewhat crazed grin appearing on his faceplate as he shook his helm. "The protection of the wisest Cybertronian to walk the face of Cybertron was more important than helping _friends!"_ Blurr shook his head, shuttering his optics. "But that is not what is eating me on the inside. What is eating me is that if I had traded spots with them, my friends would have rushed to help, no matter orders." He laughed dryly. "I was a keen, stupid Autobot. I wanted so desperately to prove myself to my superiors that I kept my post as they died. The Decepticons did not want me. They wanted Alpha Trion. They wanted information. I was too young back then to have known much, but all of my teammates were old enough. So they were questioned _right then and there on the battlefield_. They did not spill anything, and in the end had their sparks carved out before their very eyes." He drew in a ragged vent, opening his optics to reveal their burning depths. "So tell me, Arcee, have you been in a situation like that? Have you _seen_ what I have, forced to obey orders while those you cared about died?"

She stared. Never had someone so young been through so _much_. He'd seen much more than she had. She hadn't even witnessed Cliffjumper's death. Tailgate's was nowhere near as brutal as the description the young Guard had just given her.

But what shocked Arcee was that he was so _young_, so…energetic…that you would have never guessed his horrific past. He was extremely good at concealing his emotions, the inner turmoil that raged within him. She couldn't imagine the images, the horrors he must see when he closed his optics for recharge. Nightmares must plague him every hour, every second of the day. Did Prowl even know about this? Did he realize that his harshness only reminded his student of the ruthless orders he was forced to follow as his past as an Elite Guard?

"Blurr, I…" She vented as the Guard's sobs hit her like a hammer. "I don't know what to say. I didn't know." Arcee moved closer, putting a hand on his shoulder.

His venting evened somewhat, and he gazed up at her. Tears were showing on his faceplate, streaks of expelled Energon. "No, you did not. But now you do." His ventilations became shaky, and he suddenly looked sicker than before. "Care to…help me…to a berth?"

Arcee nodded, steadying the Guard on his one strong leg. He was a few feet taller than her, but was surprisingly light. _Too light_. She knew his health was deteriorating. "Is everything settled between us? You and me, I mean?"

He did not answer, and she feared he had fallen into recharge. But when he shifted, his frame rattling, she relaxed. "I…believe so. Unless…," he added, looking at her, "You…insult me…or Prowl…again."

Arcee nodded, helping him onto a berth in the chambers closest to Ratchet's med-bay. "I'll speak to him when I get the chance. Right now, you need the rest." She turned and began to leave, stopped only by his call.

"Wait." He forced himself up, his optics glowing in the dim light. "Be…careful." His ventilations were already raspy. It was a matter of time before his systems forced a recharge on him.

"Careful of what?"

Blurr coughed, and she couldn't help but wince at the severity of it. "He—my mentor…" He grimaced and closed his optics. "He has been acting…strangely. Do not…force him to…listen. Approach with caution and…keep your guard up. He is…dangerous."

She smirked. "I can handle myself, thanks for the concern."

"_No!_" She was startled by his outburst. "Careful! Not to be…taken lightly…" His optics were dimming, but his obvious distress was shown.

"Okay, Blurr. I'll be careful." She was worried for his health. "Now recharge. I'll keep your warnings in mind."

He was unconscious before she finished the statement.

* * *

**I apologize deeply if Blurr and Arcee's moment hit too hard. I've had my thoughts on some things for a while, and listening to Dear Agony and Anthem of the Angels by Breaking Benjamin didn't really clear them. Again, apologies.**

**Sorry if it was too short. Did I portray Blitzwing correctly?**

**Oh, and I also apologize for the huge paragraph describing the F-16s Blitzwing was fighting. I love jets!**

**Read and review, pleaze!**

_Dear agony, just let go of me...suffer slowly, is this the way it's gotta be? Don't bury me, faceless enemy, I'm so sorry, is this the way it's gotta be? Dear agony. Leave me alone, God let me go, I'm blue and cold, black sky will burn. Love pull me down, hate lift me up, just turn around, there's nothing left._

_There is nothing left of you, I can see it in your eyes, sing the anthem of the angels, and say the last goodbye. I keep holding onto you, but I can't bring you back to life. Sing the anthem of the angels, as we say the last goodbye. _


	9. Accusations

**Okay, here's Chapter 9 of New Member. 10 will be posted in some time; I'm getting ready for my home game performance and have rehearsals and transportation things to sort out.**

**Nothing really else to say, so...enjoy!**

* * *

Ratchet headed in the direction Prowl had gone. The path was blazed into his mind, as he already knew where to turn and such, maybe more so than the others. After all, he used this part of the bunker to get away from the others when they became too aggravating.

He was lost in his thoughts, thoughts mainly focused on Prowl. The Praxian clearly had his emotional center off; the signs were evident. But something else was bothering the Autobot CMO. There was something…off…about the ninja. He knew something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out _what_. What was it that was driving his danger sensors glitch? What was _wrong_?

The Praxian was in his sight. He stood with his back to him, his doorwings raised and flicking the air occasionally. Ratchet thought that if he were badly damaged and rebuilt, Prowl would make an excellent Autobot Seeker—his acute senses and reflexes would be appreciated in the air—if they ever got around to building such a thing.

Tearing himself from his straying thoughts, he spoke, breaking the silence. "What did you want to speak to me about?"

The other did not respond. His visored gaze was fixed on some lone, distant object, his frame tense yet relaxed. It was impossible to read the Autobot, despite the fact that his emotions were no longer there. It was always impossible to read the one and only Prowl.

"You are lost in your thoughts again, Ratchet," the ninja stated coolly.

"Excuse me for thinking about your aberrancy," the medic muttered in his usual irritated tone. "You didn't answer my question."

"More than one thing, Ratchet; many things, more so than the many here before us. There is so much out there, an entire universe and beyond of _things_, waiting to be discovered. Nevertheless," Prowl murmured, tilting his helm at the medic, his visor a blazing white, "There is always one who wants everything. The one who craves, who hungers for every thing in the universe. The demon who resides deep in the skin of everyone, always concealed until primal forces draw it out. For none can escape it, and none are born without it. So what I wish to speak about is not one thing, but many. The many things that reside in the ever-growing universe around us." He faced the medic, his faceplate cast in shadow.

Ratchet merely nodded, familiar with the ninja's way of viewing things. "You need to turn it back on." The words came out before he knew it.

The Praxian froze, instantly becoming the embodiment of stillness. He stared at the medic, and Ratchet knew that if his emotions were on, he would be one confused, startled, and angry bot.

"Don't give me that look. You're clearly in great pain and distress," Ratchet snapped, moving closer to the Autobot as he looked him up and down. At the ninja's look of disbelief, the medic's servo shot out and latched onto the Praxian's servo, yanking it towards him. Prowl hissed, trying to jerk away as Ratchet examined the servo in his possession.

"How long have you had these?" the CMO demanded brusquely, glaring down at the gashes on his frame.

"It is nothing to concern yourself about, Ratchet," the Autobot responded acerbically. "A mere wound from the fight in the woods, that is all. It has been healing fine on its own."

"A mere _wound?!"_ The medic scoffed, his optics flashing as he somehow made the statement sound like the dumbest question in the world. "This isn't a mesh wound, Prowl, it's deeper, nearly to the infrastructure! Only _you_ would say it isn't a big deal!"

The Praxian tilted his helm. "I did not say that."

"You didn't have to!" the other shot back. "What is it with your aversion to the medical bay? You've been like this for Primus knows how long!" He paused, his gaze darkening. "Has Wheeljack been spreading rumors? I swear, when I get my hands on his wretched neck—"

"No, he has not," Prowl stated calmly, "And if he had been, there would be no reason to worry. You are not intimidating."

"I never said I was!"

"But you imply it."

"No, I don't, you scrap-heap reject—" He cut off, realizing what the Praxian was doing. "Stop distracting me, or Primus help me, I'll force your emotional center on right here!"

"You would not do such a thing, as you threaten but never do."

Ratchet scoffed. "Tell that to my wrench."

Prowl glanced at him, unaware of the medic's methods on how to restrain patients. Ratchet glared, mood approaching livid and thoughts fixed on ways to get the resistant Praxian into his medical bay.

"Very well." Prowl succumbed under the enraged stare. "If it pleases you."

"Trust me; you'll be pleased when it's over."

"Will I?"

"_Enough_."

* * *

He sat, deep in his thoughts. He had been close, _so close_. He could taste it, it had been so evident. And then, that foolish Seeker had ruined it. It had been the stupid Seeker's ego that had cost him; cost him something so dear…

A low growl rumbled deep in his chassis. He scowled, glaring at the darkness beneath his shuttered optics. What was it? That Autobot…there was something…off…as much as he hated to admit it. Never mind his training…it was the infection. Something hadn't happened in the right way.

He himself had infected long ago—infected with the rage, the hunger, the _insanity_. Of course, he kept it well hidden with the stupid act of narcissism. (These chrome-plated fools were dumb enough to believe anything). After the outbreak, he was never the same. Not some scientist who enjoyed buffing his finish—had he really, truly enjoyed that? Now it made his tanks roil in disgust.

His comm. whirred to life. "_Knock Out_." Blackwing's voice sounded. "_Lord Megatron wants to speak with you_."

"About?" The Decepticon on-lined his optics, rising from his seat.

"_He didn't say. He seemed urgent, though, so I'd get your chassis in there. He's in the brig_."

"Understood." The CMO rolled his shoulders, inwardly wincing as joints and tendons rocked into place. "Tell him that I'm on my way." He left his medical bay, heading to the brig.

* * *

It was dark. The darkness didn't bother him. Everything was dark about him. His soul was tinted with the black hue of rage, betrayal, and despair. Rage was for those who had wronged him, who told him he was worthless and would never amount to anything. The betrayal—being left to die by those who had seemingly cared for him; they had said he was special, and then turned their back on him when they were needed the most. Losing the ones he cared for was the cause of his despair, having them slain by his own hands. It only blackened his soul more. It only poisoned it even more.

The cold condensed on his armor, forming droplets. A wind blew, slapping the rocky and wet ground with the ferocity of rage impersonated. His occasional intakes crystallized in the air before him, and the icy air chilled him to the core, a reminder for how callous he was, for how sadistic he was. It was a mockery—a cold, cruel mockery.

Thunder roared to voice its fury, and its companion lightning responded, a mischievous, almost playful light. The rain began, pounding against the jagged rocks with all of its strength. He wondered how a planet's weather pattern could be so diverse. If it wasn't a scorching desert, it was a frigid wasteland, a wet and rainy forest, or a moody coastline.

"_Deadlock_." A low voice sounded over him comm. "_Megatron wants you back on the ship_."

A low growl rumbled through the mech's chassis. _What is it now?_

The other mech, most likely a middle-ranking Seeker, hesitated, his engine rumbling in discomfort at hearing the Decepticon's voice in his helm. "_He has a mission for you_."

Deadlock vented slowly, rising from his seat on the rocks, water dripping off of his frame. _I am on my way._

Severing the communications link, he turned and transformed into a sleek white jet, speeding away.

* * *

**I'm sorry for how short this is; 10 was going to be a part of this, but I wanted to split it into two or three chapters. I hope the Deadlock scene was't confusing. WARNING FOR LATER: he may be out of character in future scenes. I also apologize if Prowl's little speech was random; I don't really know what happened there. **

**Anyways, pleaze read and review, and feel free to give suggestions. There are still tons of characters I'm going to add into this story.**

**More Swiftlock scenes coming, I PROMISE! I'll make it a whole chapter, but only if you guys tell me NOW. I need to plan it out. Suggestions welcome. **


	10. Confrontation and Inquiries

**Okay, Chapter 10, finally! Sorry for the wait!**

**I hope this is enough Swiftlock? *hesitant smile***

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Arcee entered the main medical bay, her thoughts on Blurr's words. Prowl didn't seem to be acting stranger than what she was used to, but who was she to judge? Blurr had known the mech for centuries, and she'd met him only a few weeks ago.

Her gaze fixed on Ratchet, who was looming over a silent Prowl, his scanner out and running over the mech's body. She guessed by the look of fury on the medic's faceplate that the Praxian had somehow not bothered to tell him about some injury he had.

"Ratchet, Blurr is in the recharge chamber down the hall." Arcee avoided the ninja's cold stare, her engine revving lightly in discomfort.

"For what reason? I thought he was recharging out here?" Ratchet did not face the female warrior.

"It was his decision." She shrugged almost nonchalantly. When the CMO whipped around, she met his glare defiantly. There was no way she was showing weakness in front of someone—a said patient sitting in front of them—who could read her so easily.

"Arcee," the medic muttered, his engine growling ominously, "What happened?"

"He wanted to recharge somewhere else, isn't it obvious?" She crossed her servos.

Ratchet's cerulean optics narrowed before he faced the waiting Praxian. "Rest. I'll deal with you in the morning."

Prowl stood noiselessly, his doorwings flicking the air as he left the room for his assigned quarters.

Ratchet watched him leave, and then fixed his stare on Arcee.

"What?" She put her hand on her hip.

"What did you do?"

"What makes you assume I did anything?"

The medic scowled. "Arcee, Blurr is far too weak to have made it to the medical berths on his own. You must have helped him, but given his obvious dislike for you, that scenario is highly unlikely." His armor flared out and he seemed even bigger in his near livid state. "So, I repeat—_what happened_?"

She vented, somewhat irritated, and inwardly knew that Ratchet would not back down until she gave him a reason. She knew that he was fiercely protective of his patients, no matter the ways they had procured their injuries, and one of them leaving unexpectedly would induce his ire and worry.

"He told me about his past." She cleared her vents and continued. "You know how he was an Elite Guard? Did you know about the horrors their new recruits were put through? The methods they used for complete obedience and control over them?"

The medic was silent as he crossed his servos and turned away.

Arcee glared up at him. "You _knew?_ Ratchet, did you even know about the horrors they were put through? It was torture, Ratchet. _Torture!_ Why didn't Optimus do anything?"

Ratchet froze, eerily silent. Then he scoffed, speaking slowly in a quiet voice. "Why didn't he do anything?" He turned towards her slightly, his voice low and menacing. "Why didn't he do anything?" His armor flared out, and his optics blazed so brightly they were nearly white. _"Why didn't he __**do**__ anything?!"_ The medic snarled, facing the small but powerful femme, who glared back boldly, wanting answers.

"Arcee, "he hissed, pacing the room with his servos clenched into fists. "He did nothing because he was not _allowed_ to do anything! When Optimus was made a Prime, despite being one, he was still a rookie! Even the Primes younger than himself had more experience on the battlefield than he did! Who was he to question their authority after just being appointed a Prime with no evident strong suit?"

He whipped around to face her, a scowl on his faceplate. "Yes, I knew about the Elite Guard's methods. Did I favor them? _**Pit**__ no._ But there was nothing we could do. Would it have been running now, Optimus would put a stop to it, I assure you." He vented in deeply, his armor settling back on his chassis. "If you'll excuse me, I need to see to my patients."

With that, the medic was gone, leaving a slightly bewildered Arcee behind.

* * *

He paced the room, the one designated as his private quarters. He was too restless to recharge, and the Prime did not favor it if one of his members left without his knowing. Especially someone like him.

But he _needed_ to get out. His wings were cramping, and so were his joints. He had not transformed in millennia—having not followed the Commander's suggestion of using his alt-mode the last time he had been allowed out to look for the strange Praxian—and the aching was driving him insane.

He had to see the medic.

The medic was the only one who understood him. Why, he did not know. He greatly respected the mech. He trusted him, more so than the others that were so eager to belittle him and blame him for petty things such as a human female child going missing.

The Prime knew who he was; therefore he knew what his reactions to certain matters would be. Despite this, the Prime's intentions were still unclear. He could seem trusting one moment, the emotion clear in the burning depths of his intense cobalt gaze, the next; he would be hesitant and wary, traits he could taste in the massive mech's energy field.

His pedes were moving, taking him to the medical bay before he realized it.

The CMO was standing at a monitor, watching the results of a scan with the look of one lost deep in their thoughts. Swiftlock had heard the others speaking about one of their youngest members waking from a coma he had been in from severe Energon loss. Said young one was stretched out on a berth on his side near the medic, optics shuttered and a somewhat calm yet pained look on his faceplate. His doorwings twitched from time to time, and an occasional moan escaped him.

It made him wonder: how could someone so young play a part in such a gruesome war? The mech, designated Smokescreen, was only a few vorns older than their scout Bumblebee.

His thoughts shifted, turning his attention back to when he had trained the little mech. Oh, how he had been so energetic, so eager to learn. It was a trait that could be easily disposed of, his excitement. He remembered how he had become frustrated when he did not perform a move the correct way, and when he had offered help, Smokescreen had snapped at him that he could get it right, that he _would_ get it right. That sheer determination to _prove,_ to show that he could do _something—_ he would always respect the little mech. He would protect him even if it left him within an inch of his life.

Swiftlock headed towards the medic. His back was to him, his digits moving swiftly over the keys of his computer console. Swiftlock let out a deep growl, signaling his approach.

"Yes, what is it?" Ratchet seemed to never start when Swiftlock appeared. The massive warrior moved within the other's peripheral vision, snarling quietly as he nodded at the recharging Praxian before them.

"He is as well as he can be, Swiftlock. His rations will be increased to make up for the amount he lost earlier—"

Swiftlock cut him off with a low hiss and a questioning tilt of his helm.

At this, Ratchet faced him. "You mean you do not know?"

_Know what?_ The Predacon's stance became hostile.

"Calm yourself." The medic vented softly, pinching his olfactory ridge. "Do you not know how Smokescreen was injured? No one ever briefed you on the mission before Prowl went missing?"

Swiftlock growled, a rumbling noise echoing deep in his chassis.

"I am hesitant to tell you, Swiftlock." When the Predacon began to object, the CMO whipped around, glaring. "Listen to what I have to say before you object."

Swiftlock stared, tasting the heady scent of irritation and exhaustion. He had learned that when Ratchet was in a mood as horrible as this, it was best to just let him vent and calm down on his own.

"Everyone here knows what happened to Smokescreen, but we are not favoring the idea of telling you right now. We need enough hands as it is, and you going on a murderous rampage won't help anyone. When he feels well enough, if Smokescreen wants to tell you himself, then so be it. But do not go about trying to pry the information from him. He's as scarred as it is."

The Predacon merely nodded, his gaze lowering to the small Praxian.

Ratchet sensed his worry and turned. "Swiftlock, he'll be okay. I promise you that." The faintest trace of sincere concern for his patient flashed across his faceplate, before it slipped back into the controlled professionalism of an expert. "Now, was there anything else you wanted?"

Swiftlock began to answer, only to cringe and growl lowly as pain stabbed through his neural net. Ratchet whipped around, his optics narrow. "Sit." The word was not a suggestion, and power rang throughout his voice, reminding Swiftlock that the medic had just pulled rank on him.

_"Now,_ Swiftlock." Ratchet growled, forcing the Predacon onto an unoccupied medical berth as he ran his scanner over him. Swiftlock grit his dentia as the aching fire ran through him again, making the medic glance at him in concern.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" It was all too obvious Ratchet had located the problem.

Swiftlock snarled, his optics blazing.

"Of course I was busy; I have other patients besides you!" The medic vented, calming himself. "Your joints and transformation seams are seizing up. You need to transform."

Swiftlock shifted, shaking his helm.

"After everything you've done, you still want Optimus' permission, don't you?" At the Predacon's nod, Ratchet vented in exasperation. "Fine. Give me a moment."

* * *

Optimus Prime entered the medical bay, his intense gaze sweeping across the room. Smokescreen was recharging fitfully on a berth, and Blurr was on one across from him. But the reason for his being there was currently seated on another berth, his body rigid but softened only slightly with the tell-tale slackness of one experiencing intense internal pain.

"Ratchet. You wished to speak to me."

The medic nodded, keeping his attention fixed on his conscious patient. "Yes. Swiftlock here is experiencing tremendous pain. He hasn't transformed for millennia, and his joints and transformation seams are shredding." Ratchet looked at him. "What he needs is your permission to leave the base in order to 'stretch his wings', as he puts it."

The Prime looked down at the two. "Your authority supersedes my own in medical expertise, Ratchet. If you believe Swiftlock's health will improve by his transforming, then you have my permission."

On the berth, Swiftlock snarled, his optics flashing.

"He just gave you permission," the medic snapped, approaching the seated Predacon. "Come on. I'll bridge you to a place where you won't be seen." When the other hissed, the CMO scowled. "Yes, I'll be coming with you. I need to be there in order to see if anything else is wrong with your transformation sequence." He tapped in a set of coordinates to the ground bridge controls, and it roared to life. Urging Swiftlock through, Ratchet stopped and looked back at the slightly amused Prime.

"Wipe that smirk off your face before I weld your mouth shut," Ratchet snapped, although there was a light humor hidden in the statement. "If Smokescreen or Blurr wakes, contact me."

Optimus nodded. "As you wish, old friend."

With that, he watched the two exit the base.

* * *

**Next chapter: Swiftlock's alternate mode! It'll be a while, possibly a few days to a few weeks (sorry *apologetic grin*). I start school tomorrow and I have marching band rehearsal and violin/cello lessons, as well as figuring stuff out on how my mom's going to pack me lunch with barely anything in the house. So, apologies!**

**Read and review, pleaze! Any questions/concerns/suggestions, PM or leave in a review!**

**Bye!**


	11. Dark Hunger

**Yes, yes, yes, I know I promised more Swiftlock! Don't kill me! This idea has been plaguing me forever, and I just had to make it a chapter! I PROMISE, THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE SWIFTLOCK!**

* * *

He sat cross-legged in his quarters, optics shuttered and vents even. The beast was attempting to resurface, yet he could not leave to collect his thoughts without alerting the others of his presence; none of them knew he was here.

The aching pang tore through him, making him grit his dentia. He shook his helm, clenching his hands into fists. Now was not the time to lose control. He would not be able to restrain himself if he did. There was no telling the damage he could do…

…ah, but the damage he _would_ do. There would be no turning back, no regrets. He could do what he wanted, and no one had the power to stop him. No one except the Prime. Yes, the Prime could stop him, but only if he were fast enough. If he was not, it would be too late,…yes, it would be _too late._

Yes, he could taste it. Taste the sweet Energon, the hot liquid covering his servos, slipping through his digits, coating his glossa. The pangs tore through him again, but he did not possess the strength to repel them. They were welcome…

Were they not?

His doorwings flared, picking up a signal. Someone was coming his way. Biting back a growl, he recomposed himself, venting deeply as he attempted to restrain the hunger rising in him.

There was a knock on the door. "Prowl? It's Arcee. "

Grating his dentia together, the Praxian rose to his pedes and entered the open command into the keypad. The blue femme stood there, her winglets flared, as she looked up at him with her servos crossed over her chest.

"Good evening, Arcee. Is there something I can assist you with?" He was somewhat shocked at how collected he sounded. If only she knew about the storm brewing inside…

The femme shifted her weight, her jaw clenching. "I need to speak with you. May I come in?"

Prowl nodded. "Of course." He moved aside, inviting her. She entered somewhat hurriedly, but not before he caught the scent of her. Ah, the sweet Energon flowing through her circuits…the menacing rumble of his engine started before he could stop it.

Arcee turned, her helm tilted. "Are you okay?"

He looked down at her, his faceplate still the impassive mask it was used to being. "Why would I not be?"

She shifted again. "I mean, with all that's happening…Smokescreen waking, Blurr becoming worse…"

She flinched ever so slightly at the warning flare of his visor. "If you are only here to reprimand me of the treatment of my student, I would suggest that you leave. I have had a long orn, and I prefer to recharge without the irritation."

Arcee looked shocked for a moment, before her optics darkened in a glare. "I didn't come here to reprimand you, so you can stop guessing of my motives before I even do anything." She seemed startled at her harsh tone, and frowned, recollecting herself. "Prowl…I came to apologize."

The slightest hint of a frown graced his mouthplates. "For what reason?"

"Don't act like you don't know," the femme retorted. "I've treated you horribly since you came. You've done nothing to me. If it were you treating me in such a way, in such a new environment, I would have taken matters into my own hands. But _you…"_ She looked down at her pedes. "…you haven't done a _thing_ except _speak_ to me, and I was nothing but a glitch about it." She looked up and suddenly was moving closer to the listening Praxian. "That is why I am here."

Prowl took an involuntary step back. Her scent was overwhelming…so sweet, so _delicious._ A shudder ran through his frame, and he turned sharply away, startling Arcee enough for her to move back as the ninja took a few steps away, hands clenched into fists.

"Prowl?" Her confusion only showed the slightest bit. "I can come back later, if you—"

"No." He cut her off rather abruptly, shaking his helm. "I am fine. Please, continue."

She tilted her helm in slight suspicion. "I've said all I needed to. What I want is to hear your part."

The Praxian hesitated, another violent tremor running through him. It didn't go unnoticed by Arcee.

"Prowl, are you okay?" She took a hesitant step closer.

The ninja shook his helm. "Stay back." His voice was low, somewhat strained and forced.

"No." She kept staring. "You're not ill, are you? Ratchet was furious at you earlier, and he is only like that if you don't tell him about an injury."

The Praxian's powerful engine revved slightly. "Arcee, I am fine."

The femme crossed her servos. "Then _prove it._ Tell me what I want to hear. Do you accept my apology or not?" She moved even closer.

_Oh, the scent…_ The mech's doorwings flared, a growl escaping him before he could restrain it. His chassis was racked by violent shivers, his armor flared slightly from his frame.

Arcee noticed this, _curse_ her observance . "Prowl, are you okay?"

He shuddered, the hunger rising, uncontrollable. He had to get the femme out before he hurt her. "I believe I am…unwell. It would be logical for you to leave."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" She came even closer; his engine growled as the pangs started again, racing throughout his very being. "I can take you to Ratchet."

"No. I will be fine as long as I recharge." The hunger roared its fury, rising in an uncontrollable rage. A snarl escaped him, but he did not notice Arcee start with slight fear and suspicion.

"Prowl, I can't just leave you here. Let me take you." She put her servo against his.

Prowl turned on her, visor blazing as he bared his dentia at her; Arcee did not seem to notice them lengthening. "No, Arcee, I am fine!"

"No, you're not. Just let me take you." She pulled gently at the Praxian's servo, and the movement exposed more of her aroma. A low whine escaped his vocalizer. Oh, she smelled so _good…_

Something snapped deep within him.

"Yes, I would believe that would be wise."

Shocked at his sudden acquiescence, she eyed him. "Prowl?"

The mech grinned down at her, wings flared aggressively. The slightest hint of fear and concern showed on her faceplate. "Let me escort you there. You are looking rather worn yourself."

"I...I'm fine, Prowl. You're the one who's—"

"Oh, but I _insist."_ The grin became feral as his servo shot out, grasping hers in a painful iron grip. "Anything could happen at this time of night. We would not want you getting _hurt,_ now, would we?"

She started, unnerved by the Praxian's sudden grasp as she tried to break free from his immensely strong hold. She noticed the tremors racking the mech's chassis were increasing in brutality. "Prowl, what are you doing? Let me go."

He froze, staring at her. His visor flashed with unknown intention. Then he shook his helm, turning away and releasing her; the ache of his grasp throbbed, her armor dented. He was muttering beneath his breath, unintelligible words, as his wings flared and relaxed over and over.

Arcee was now becoming slightly frightened. "Prowl, are you okay?"

The Praxian shuddered, shaking his helm as unintelligible words were murmured.

"Prowl, I can't understand you."

He turned, and the strike of fear and disbelief hit her. The Praxian's visor was blazing red, a massive change from the normal icy crystal blue, full of malicious intent and desire. She involuntarily took a step back, her winglets twitching in distress. "Prowl?"

The Praxian ninja did not respond with a words; a low, rumbling snarl echoing deep in his chassis. He advanced on her, dentia now lengthened into fangs bared as hunger flared in his penetrating glare.

"Prowl, what are you doing?"

The Praxian did not answer. Moving with a speed that rivaled his student's, he pinned her to the wall. His clawed digits dug into her armor, making it buckle and dig into her protoform beneath his iron grip. His wings flared wide and threatening. She struggled as razor points grazed her neck, trying to break free.

"Prowl, let me go!"

The Autobot snarled, wings raised as the pressure on her armor increased. He leaned close, murmuring one whispered word, his ex-vents icy against her neck, in her audio:

_"Run."_

With growing terror, she realized that the Prowl she knew was no longer standing before her. What was before her was a ravenous imitation of a mech, an Energon-craving vampire merely wearing the Praxian's skin.

Acting without thinking, she pushed against the wall, putting enough space between them for her to lash out with a powerful kick. Prowl reared back, hissing, and Arcee was shocked to see that the action did not harm the other, it only made him furious. His wings were splayed as he made his way back over to her, intent on draining her, his fangs bared and glinting in the dim lighting. Raising his servo, he sent her sprawling across the room, dizzy and stunned from the initial force. She racked her mind trying to find a solution. This was not an undead, mindless Terrorcon. No, she knew Prowl was aware of his actions. But did he favor them?

She put her digits to her comm, dialing a number before she was aware, dodging the enraged vampire's attacks.

"This is Arcee. I am requesting immediate backup."

_"Arcee?"_ A weak, exhausted voice sounded over the line, hoarse and cracked. _"Do you know what time it is? What is going on?"_

"Blurr, your teacher has lost it. He's trying to"—she dodged a would-be-fatal lash from menacing talons, slicing at him with her swords—"drain me, _kill_ me, I don't know!"

The Guard was silent for a moment, his raspy ventilations echoing in her processor. _"I am on my way. Try to hold him off."_

"Blurr…" She vented in irritation as the line cut off. How was _he_ going to help her? He could barely stand on his own. Shaking her helm, she continued to block the Praxian's attacks.

_Primus, how this would be so much easier if he forgot his ninja training_, the femme thought irritably. It clearly wasn't the case, as the ninja was still able to vanish and reappear without a trace and lash out with powerful kicks and punches.

Her sensors picked up someone's approach. The door opened and Blurr limped in, his mouthplates curved into a scowl of pain. His optics flashed blue-white when he saw his teacher and Arcee fighting.

"Prowl!" the Guard bellowed, his voice echoing with surprising power as he entered the room and shut the door manually behind him.

The Praxian turned, baring his sharp dentia at the newcomer. Blurr stared back, drawing himself up as much as he could without injuring himself further. Prowl lunged at him, going for his neck. The younger mech dodged, ending up next to Arcee.

"What did you do?" he hissed at her, glaring down at her.

"I came to apologize, like I told you," the femme retorted, keeping an optic on the watching Praxian. His wings were fanning the air, his crimson visor glowing eerily in the dim light.

"And he did not seem _off_ to you? He always acts so before he changes."

"And how was I to know? I thought he was just having a bad orn."

"Yes, but—" Blurr cut off as his teacher lashed out at him, catching him off guard as he reared back, Energon running down his faceplate from a gash on his optic. Despite the obvious pain he was in, he was glaring at the Praxian, who grinned at him, the action unnerving with his blood red visor and pointed dentia.

_"Enough!"_ Blurr roared, armor flaring as the Praxian approached him again. "Prowl, I _know_ you are still in there! Fight this! You control it, not the other way around. Do _not_ let this overwhelm you! Would you not deem your current actions illogical?"

To her surprise, the ninja faltered, hissing in agitation. His visor darkened for a moment, changing back to ice blue before reverting to its crimson.

Blurr's armor flared out even more, both in anger and relief. "Yes, Prowl. Control it." He held out his servo. "Take from me. Do not harm the femme. I know you will not harm me."

Prowl snarled, his gaze darting from Arcee to Blurr. His visor switched to crystal blue and stayed there. Blurr relaxed, his armor flattening against his frame as he approached his mentor, holding out his servo. "Go ahead," the young Guard murmured. "You are back to normal. You will not harm me."

Prowl, however, had other thoughts. His gaze locked on Arcee, who was still observing warily, her blades extended. He stared at her, his gaze and body revealing nothing of the thoughts going through his processor.

But Arcee knew what he was thinking. He was furious and ashamed. She knew something about letting the beast out, letting the rage and raw power overwhelm...

"Prowl, I..."

The Praxian's engine roared, and he pointed to the door. "Get out."

Blurr frowned in confusion and disappointment. "Prowl, she only wants to–"

The Praxian hissed at him, silencing him immediately. Then he turned back to Arcee, his wings flared aggressively. _"Get out!"_

Arcee did as told, and she couldn't help but wonder what she had gotten herself into.

* * *

**Hope you liked! YES, MORE SWIFTLOCK NEXT CHAPTER! R&R, pleaze! I hope this was okay!**


	12. Hidden Threats and Rewards

**You all must HATE me right now...**

* * *

All was peaceful. The sky, tinged faintly with thick gray, water-laden clouds, rumbled with the oncoming threat of thunder, the taste and scent of ozone thick in the air. A cool wind blew, lapping softly at any object in its way, filling it with the icy promise of bone-chilling rain.

A whoosh filled the air, a mechanical sound out of place in the quiet natural world. A large portal appeared, its soft green and blue colors blending in with the gray-tinted creams and whites surrounding it.

Two large beings stepped out, enormous shadows, one towering over the other. They were displaced in such a peaceful environment, holding so much power and presence that the organic world around them quaked, overwhelmed by such beings. _Destruction was imminent when in the shadows of such creatures_, the mother of the earth hummed contentedly. _Nothing but death and anarchy can come from such monsters. _

The organic life rumbled, hatred and fear growing. _No, such beings will not destroy them. Mother will protect us. She always does._

The life screamed as it was crushed beneath the unyielding foot of the beast.

The larger one growled, the noise rumbling and echoing through the peaceful clearing as he glared down at the offending organic object, aware of the large pieces of sturdy and surprisingly brittle material that was known as bark, and its owner was called a tree, according to his searching databases.

"This is the least populated area out of all the ones I looked up." The other's voice was gruff, laced with irritation, either unaware or uncaring of his companion's predicament. "It was the only one large enough, too. I surveyed all of the others; they were too small for you."

Swiftlock nodded, snarling quietly, turning to face the medic. His optics burned with the taunt of long-needed transformation so close in his grasp. Clawed servos rose to his throat, and with the faint hiss of released latches the covering over the area where his voice box should have been fell into his waiting servos. His piercing optics glinted in the dim natural light as he held it out for the CMO.

Ratchet was shocked, servos remaining at his side as he blatantly refused to take the proffered piece. "Don't you need this?"

Swiftlock growled, shaking his helm. A talon extended to press the underside of the piece of metal worn by time, and electricity danced over its frame, stinging the enormous mech's servos with a ferocity that made him wince.

"A fail-safe." The medic's optics narrowed by the brutality of it all. "You designed and installed a fail-safe in case you cannot control yourself when you transform."

The Predacon nodded, surprised at the mech's sudden anger. Cringing at the burning pain that ran through him, he felt the telltale sting of the hot Energon trickling from his shredded joints and transformation seams. Ratchet noticed this, and his scowl darkened with a black rage that unnerved the elder Predacon.

"If you wish for me to use it, then I will, but only as a last resort," the medic assured him. He stepped back. "Go ahead and transform."

Swiftlock nodded once, venting deeply as he moved away from the medic, who was glaring rather acerbically at him. He had thought the fail-safe mechanism would please him; it was a method of ensuring he was not decapitated by the beast. However, the mech's reaction had been less than pleasant, and he was beginning to think it had not been a good idea to inform him about it.

"Swiftlock, I know how to force a transformation, and I will if you don't do so now." Ratchet crossed his servos.

Swiftlock let out a light-hearted growl, baring his pointed dentia and flicking his forked glossa. The taunt of transformation was so close...

...yet he found he was hesitant to do so.

He knew the beast had not been awakened for eons. It would be starving. It would attack the nearest sentient life form to quench the excruciating pang of hunger.

And he was not so sure he could stop it if he wanted to.

* * *

Ratchet watched as his companion moved away, tracking his every move. He could tell that the Predacon was restraining himself, but why? If he had not transformed for even a few weeks he would have gone completely stir-crazy. For Swiftlock to be resilient enough to hold back his urges and keep his inner beast at bay...

But why was he not transforming?

If one looked close enough, the tremors shaking the ninja's chassis could be seen. The scalding Energon dripped steadily from the shredded seams, hissing as it made contact with the dry cracked stone beneath it and burned its name deep within the vulnerable ground.

_"Swiftlock."_

The Predacon snarled, jerking his helm towards the other mech and at the object in his grasp. _I know. What do you think I am doing?_

"Then do it already before I decide to turn this thing on _now!"_

The taller mech's dark gaze blazed before he moved farther away. Shuttering his optics, Swiftlock drew in a deep vent of chilled and moist air.

_Accessing dormant processor functions. Sub-unit: transformation: physical. Type: alt-mode. Initiating sequence._

Armor plating shifted and joints creaked and realigned as powerful hydraulics hissed and groaned. Sunlight glinted off of glossy black and red metal. Limbs folded inward, seeming to collapse and curl in on themselves. Four massive pedes appeared, landing with a ground-shaking thud. Refined and just about indestructible metal flared and rattled, growing in size to cover the colossal frame. Completing the frightening demeanor was the head of the beast. Adorned with menacing and enormous spikes that curved with a deadly grace from the massive helm, the beast's mandible components gaped, exposing huge spiked dentia that glistened with oral lubricants and deadly toxins that hissed and burned through the ground as they made contact with the unsuspecting floor. Wings that were easily five times larger than the overall length of the dragon were extended. The dying embers and rays of the sun behind the transformed mech screamed through the thick material, illuminating the inner veins and tendons and revealing the infrastructure of such graceful yet lethal appendages. Blacks, reds, and golds blended perfectly together, a mélange of the colors associated with destruction and power and authority. A long tail extended behind the beast, embellished with ancient Predacon symbols and phrases whose meaning was lost to the ages long before the Great War; similar expressions were carved elegantly by a hand birthed from the ruler of grace.

Ratchet narrowed his optics, slightly unnerved at the silence of the Predacon. "Swiftlock?" The question came off as more of a demand, more harsh and interrogating than a simple query.

The dragon hissed softly, tilting its helm as a deep and cavernous rumble sounded deep in its chassis. It took a shuddering step towards the other, tail flicking and scraping against the ground with an audio-grating screech. His wings, folded tightly against his burning chassis, twitched and unfolded ever so slightly.

The medic stood his ground. "Swiftlock, do you understand me?"

There was a brief moment of tense silence, one in which the red and white mech's spark twisted in concern and suspicion.

Then, the dragon bowed its head gracefully. Such a strong sense of honor and pride graced such a seemingly simple motion, one that was stained with such heroic traits that were lost in the death throes caused by millions of years of endless and savage war. Vents hissing, the beast known as Swiftlock came closer, glossa darting out to swipe against the mech's armor, only the slightest bit unnerved by the still-present irritation flaring from the mech's electromagnetic field.

Ratchet moved back, swatting at the offending body part; he may have seemed irritated and definitely was in some sort of way, but he could not help but not restrain the slight contentedness that wormed its way into his voice and the action. "Enough of that. I did not come here to be your chew toy," the Autobot snapped, ignoring the low whine that escaped the beast's vocalizer. "Do you feel any discomfort? Shake once for yes, twice for no."

It seemed to take Swiftlock a breem to fully comprehend the inquiry, and after he had done so his massive helm shook side to side, slowly.

"Good." The Autobot CMO moved cautiously towards the other, his servo plating folding back to reveal his medical scanner. The beast snarled viciously, eyeing the device and glaring at the medic. Faint memories of unyielding torture haunted his memories as the Predacon reared back, his pressurized fire generator warming up.

"Easy, there." Ratchet raised his servos as the armor on his scanner folded back, taking a step back from the wary beast. "I'm only going to run a scan to be sure you aren't holding back." At the Predacon's hiss, the medic scowled as he approached once more. "First of all, did I even _say _that I doubted you or thought you were lying? Honestly, Swiftlock, the world would be better off without ridiculous assumptions such as that." Satisfied with the results, Ratchet moved back, aware of the darkening day as the beast's optics were the only thing he could see despite his own and their bright biolights.

Swiftlock let out a low hiss, flicking his tail and raising his wings.

Ratchet eyed the other. "There are satellites. If they see you..."

The Predacon growled, shaking his helm as his internals rumbled.

"You will be careful?" The Autobot paused at the questioning hiss the other made. "No, I -will you _stop_ interrupting me, for Primus' sake?" He pinched the bridge of his olfactory ridge in frustration that was not as strong as he had first imagined, tiring of the curious Predacon's antics. "I am only concerned because there are humans out there that, should they find any images or sightings of you, would not hesitate to use you as an experiment to design weapons off of or just altogether capture and torture you."

Swiftlock hissed menacingly, approaching the medic to loom over him, crimson optics blazing hellishly in the dark and dying day, as old and corrupted memories surfaced in his databanks.

Yet the medic was not perturbed. "Either get your aft up there and fly already or change back and we'll head back to base. I'm not waiting all day for you to decide."

The Predacon, if it had been possible, seemed to smirk.

With an audible creak of joints, the massive and elegant wings unfolded and with a thundering roar the beast shot into the sky. Ratchet watched him with a slight and barely visible smirk on his face.

Swiftlock soared through the dark sky, reveling in the feel of the chilled, albeit slightly damp, air gliding above and beneath his wings. It felt so good to be free...no confinements...no worries...no troubles...no **_restraints._**

With a sudden lurch as the dragon spun in the air, deeply hidden protocols activated, a thick and byzantine encryption hiding deep within the mech's processor.

_Refuel protocols initiated. Objective: hunt._

_Kill._

_Destroy._

* * *

The medic stalked down the halls silently. The incompetent drones had been unwise in their decision to approach him, especially when he was in a mood as dark and murderous as he was currently. They had scampered like frightened petro-rabbits when his cold glare had fixed on them and pierced their very sparks with terror.

With a deep vent and a light rumble from his engine, he came to a stop near the brig entrance. Providing the advanced piece of machinery with the codes it so wantonly desired, he prowled into the dimly lighted room.

The massive frame of the feared Decepticon warmonger stood bathed in shadows, inky creatures that darted across his plating like tamed yet aggressive Scraplets fighting over a lone piece of metal; the personification of obstreperous sparklings just waiting for something to get into.

Near the warlord stood another massive frame, one colored with dark burgundies and blacks and whites. In the weak and pathetic light, the mech's bright crimson optics blazed with an insanity untold. Massive wings twitched irregularly, fanning the air.

"Knock Out," the silver tyrant rumbled, "It would be appreciated if you tried to arrive here _directly_ after I summon you."

"My apologies, master. It will not happen again." The Decepticon CMO fixed his gaze on the large mech flanking his ruler. "And who might you be?"

The dark mech grinned, the action stained with black insanity, hunger, and desire. "Blitzwing." A distinct accent colored his voice.

"A formidable warrior, as well as a rare triple-changer," Megatron continued, crossing his servos.

"Triple-changer?" The grounder's engine growled as his optics flashed with enough insanity that it was comparable to Blitzwing's. "How _delightful..."_ With a barely audible snarl, Knock Out approached the other on silent pedes, his optics flashing menacingly.

_"Knock Out."_ Megatron rumbled a warning, narrowing his piercing optics.

The medic instantly backed off, armor shifting and flaring. "I was not going to do anything, my lord. He just smells so _good..." _His long and nearly serpentine glossa ran over his dentia.

"Zhere is more about you than meets the optic." Blitzwing spoke in a eerily calm and deep voice, resonating throughout the brig. "Zhe stories must be inaccurate."

"Really now? And what do these _stories _say?" The medic crossed his servos, a bit of his former haughty self returning, if not for a brief moment.

The triple-changer's faceplate became dark, and the grin that appeared on his mouthplates was as eerie and insane as that of a madmech. "Zhey say zat you are a coward, little mech! A small, pitiful _coward!"_ He began laughing maniacally, dentia bared and optics blazing.

Knock Out narrowed his optics, armor flaring and engine growling as he approached the other mech, his gaze burning with ill desire and intent. The fact that Blitzwing was beside himself with his maniacal laughter only worsened his already dark mood. "Why you -!"

_"Enough!" _Megatron activated his fusion cannon, the energy inside churning and whirring with a barely concealed threat. "Cease squabbling over petty matters. I have something to discuss with each of you." He motioned with his servo and the lighting brightened, revealing Soundwave, who had apparently been flanking Megatron without their knowing and had been there the entire time.

The brightening of the room revealed a small and sickly looking Seeker in the largest cell. Skeletal wings were clamped behind her back and her large golden optics were dim with exhaustion and flooded with fear and anxiety.

"Ooh, look at zat little femme!" Blitzwing approached the cell before anyone had even thought of stopping him, and he loomed over it as he stared down at the little femme with his signature jack o' lantern grin. "Vhy is she so scared? Are you scared, little sparkling?" His grin widened as his engine roared; the noise made the Seeker flinch and curl against the wall, her plating trembling. "Ve vill no hurt zou! Yet, zat is! Ahahaha!"

"Blitzwing, enough," Megatron growled before turning to face the now curious medic. "Knock Out, this is Avarablack, a Seeker we have had in custody for some time."

The medic's optics blazed as he stared intently at the youngling, who was beginning to tremble rather violently. "I was not aware we had a prisoner. How long?"

Megatron eyed the CMO as he continued to stare hungrily at the femme. "She has been with us for a few thousand vorns. Only most of the Division Commanders and their seconds know of her. Soundwave has ensured that no word gets out of the _Nemesis_ about her. The Autobots would no doubt attempt to rescue her."

"Mmm." The red mech tilted his helm. "What is her purpose?"

"She holds no purpose. At least, not anymore." The massive warlord took a few thundering steps towards the prisoner, making her squeak and try, in vain, to get away. "She was a Neutral who specialized in encrypted coding and frequencies, well enough to be a rival to Soundwave back in the Golden Ages." He leaned down close to the femme, who whimpered and shook in her manacles. "Seeing as though such heavily encrypted and byzantine frequencies and algorithms are no longer used, her life is inconsequential."

The faceless master assassin turned, tilting his helm. _"Not...~enough."_

Megatron shook his helm. "I did say _almost _enough." He faced the red mech once again. "It has been obvious that you are quite ravenous, medic."

The statement was enough to break Knock Out's gaze from the prisoner. "Do you really...?"

The warlord snarled. "Did I stutter? Avarablack is of no more use to us." His grin was disturbing as he fixed his crimson gaze back on the shivering femme. "She is all yours."

Knock Out snarled, optics flashing with a manic, hungry light. "I could not thank you enough, my lord." His digits lengthened into claws and his mouthplates were pulled back to expose his dentia, revealing long and venomous fangs.

Blitzwing switched over to his Icy persona. "Lord Megatron, is he going to do vhat I think he vill?"

Megatron rolled his optics and vented deeply. "Yes, Blitzwing. It is best if we leave him be. He has terminated more than a fair amount."

He led the triple-changer out of the brig, allowing Soundwave to linger and watch what was about to happen. The TIC had a strange...he would not call it _obsession,_ exactly...interest in watching the medic tear apart his victims.

The agonized screams of the prisoner echoed and lingered for a moment...

...and then they were silenced as the sickening sound of fangs tearing into weak neck cabling echoed in their audios.

* * *

**There! Hope you liked! Sorry for the crappy ending! **

**Coming up next: Swiftlock loses control, Blurr worsens, and Deadlock is paired with Blitzwing and a mentally unstable Knock Out!**


	13. Atonement and Pain

**Chapter 13! **

**Note: The events I said were coming up did not specifically indicate that they would be in that order. There may only be one aforementioned scene a chapter, with some other stuff thrown in. I apologize for any inconveniences and/or rages or confusion this may cause.**

**WARNING: Vivid torture scene described! The lines divide this into sections, so skip the first one if you are easily nauseated or get scared easily! For those of you not like that, enjoy! :D**

* * *

The night was cold.

Not cold enough to bother him, but just enough to lower his frame temperature by the slightest degree. The feel of the cool wind moaning beneath and above his wings felt shockingly pleasing, an emotion he was not sure he had possessed. He found that he desired the forceful, unyielding thrum of the enraged and salt-stained water pounding on his frame. It was a rightful personification of his inner turmoil.

Turmoil that was caused by those who _dared _call him a colleague, associate, or even a wretched friend. Those who had dared betray him, turn their backs on him when they had said and promised that they would be there no matter what...those chrome-plated fools were too cowardly, too weak and pathetic, to cease hiding behind their measly excuse for a shield in some sort of idiotic and futile attempt to escape his homicidal wrath.

The wind roared and thunder boomed, shaking him to his very foundation. Had he been in bipedal mode he would have grinned. This paltry planet's weather was amusing; it seemed to match his mood almost perfectly.

Oh, how he desired to wrap his claws around an unsuspecting being's throat and just dig in and rip them apart.

It was too bad all of his targets were long gone...just like his sanity.

With a barely audible snarl, he tore himself from his near livid musings and transformed, landing with silent pedes on the docking bay. Stalking into the massive warship, he set out to find Starscream.

The Seeker was in the control room, currently scowling out at the rumbling sky surrounding them. His wings were raised and twitched occasionally, revealing his mood that was worse for the wear.

_Where is Lord Megatron? _The lieutenant started at the sound of the swordsmech's voice in his helm, whipping around with his talons extended. He did not relax as he took in the dripping frame of Deadlock.

"You idiot," the slim silver mech hissed, narrowing his optics as his mouthplates curled back into a vicious snarl. "Lord Megatron has been hounding me on your whereabouts. Does it really take that long to fly from the coastline to the warship? You are an expert at tracking, are you not?"

_I could care less about what your current complications, Starscream. I asked you a question, and if I do not receive an answer in the next nanosecond you will be short of a wing. _The pure white mech bared his dentia, flaring his armor.

"Enough with the threats, Deadlock. We are all tiring of them." The SIC was unperturbed -or was actually disturbed and did not bother to show it- as he waved a servo in a lackadaisical manner. "Lord Megatron is in the brig. You had better make haste; he is in a bad mood."

_Is he not always? _With a rumbling snarl, the assassin turned and headed in the direction of the brigs. His pace slowed as he picked up the scents of more than one electromagnetic field. Readjusting his audio receptors, he tuned in to the conversation as he slipped silently into the room.

Megatron and Blitzwing stood a small distance from a dark red mech he recognized as Knock Out, who was circling a shackled and sickly looking Seeker femme chained to the wall of her cell behind her. Her optics were dim and her armor was dull and covered in infected scrapes, both massive signs of malnutrition and unyielding torture. Her optics were wide and her frame trembled as she watched the medic move around her. Deadlock narrowed his optics, focused on the CMO. There was something predatory about his movements; each silent and graceful motion concealed dark intent and desire, things that were evident in the flare of the mech's electromagnetic field. Ominous, barely hidden hunger blazed in the burning depths of the mech's crimson glare. Mouthplates pulled back in a vicious snarl, they revealed long and extended fangs that glinted in the dim lighting. Razor-sharp talons extended from the tips of the medic's digits, seemingly longer than his own.

Soundwave stood nearby, his helm tilted ever so slightly as he observed the current events that were playing out. By the slight static haze surrounding the feared faceless mech, it was all too obvious that he was recording this incident to save in the databanks, but was unclear if it would be the ones belonging to the ship or his own. The slim and faceless mech was motionless as their lord and master and the insane triple-changer exited the dungeon-like room, as still as a statue as the medic began to laugh lowly. The little femme trembled, looking scared out of her processor as the Decepticon neared her.

"Now, now, little youngling," the medic crooned in a low and sadistic voice. "There is no need to panic." Moving too fast for even Deadlock's processor to catch up with, the red mech had his claws trailing over the shivering Seeker's faceplate. "My dear Avarablack...what was it that possessed you to spy on the Decepticons?"

Dim golden optics were shuttered repeatedly, one only slightly nanoseconds slower than the other. "A-Are y-you th-the torturer?"

Knock Out tutted, shaking his helm. "That was not the answer to my question." His claws sunk deep into the side of her faceplate, a sickening screech. The youngling screamed as the medic ripped half of her once-beautiful faceplate off, uncaring of her pathetic cries as the smooth metal was separated from its host. Hydraulics snapped and small Energon veins were slashed apart, staining the Knock Out's servos and the femme's chest. With a menacing chuckle the mech stepped back to admire his work as the femme trembled violently, coolant tears streaming down her face as she struggled to keep in her racking sobs. Most of the right side of her faceplate was gone, the protective metal slashed viciously up under her optic, exposing pale and weak infrastructure and the gory, shredded bits of what remained of her soft protoform.

Deadlock had to admit, the methods the medic were using were a bit startling, especially for one who was known to be cowardly and hide behind his brute of a partner.

Though that clearly was not the case here.

"Now." Knock Out leaned back, rocking on his pedes, as he grinned viciously. "When I ask a question, I expect a statement in return pertaining to the information I want. _Not _another question. Is that understood?" When the femme did not respond, he snarled and grabbed what remained of her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. _"Is that understood?"_

The femme whimpered and nodded. "Y-Yes."

"Good," the medic purred. "Do you know why you are here?"

A harsh cough came from the femme as her intakes rattled and groaned, bits of gore and unprocessed Energon flying from her mouth. "N-No."

Knock Out rumbled deep within his chassis, leaning close as his fangs extended. "I doubt you ever will."

Deadlock watched with morbid interest, feeling only the _least_ bit sorry for the little youngling as the medic began to drain her dry. He narrowed his optics as the pale golden optics flickered rapidly and the little femme grasped weakly at the servo holding her down. The Decepticon merely snarled and sunk his dentia in deeper, uncaring of the bloodcurdling screams that tore from Avarablack's vocalizer; he was even amused, if his deep laughs were anything to go by.

Deadlock knew not what fear was, or how it felt to be on the receiving end of any horror that caused such fear.

He only knew how to _make_ someone fear.

And now he knew Knock Out did as well.

The faintest disturbance in the corner of his sensory range tore him from his thoughts. With a snarl, Deadlock unsheathed his swords and turned to slice at the unwelcome visitor, only to come face-to-face with the tall and slim black-and-purple frame of Soundwave. The TIC's long and skeletal digits were curled around the edge of his blade, and his featureless faceplates and body posture revealed nothing of the thoughts going on in his helm.

"Soundwave." Deadlock immediately assumed a respectful position. Though he feared nothing, Soundwave was easily stronger, more cunning, and had millennium of experience earned by gladitorial means. Despite Deadlock's more than impressing abilites, the warrior and former assassin could easily overpower him.

The spy tightened his grasp on the assassin's sword, the thin metals shrieking and scraping against each other. _"You are...~not...to be...in...here."_

The white Decepticon let his armor relax, internally wondering how he had let the former gladiator startle him so. "I was looking for Lord Megatron. He wished to speak with me."

Soundwave merely stared at him, remaining silent. It was that way for some time until he turned on silent pedes and headed towards the door. With a glance over his shoulder panel, he spoke one word:

_"Follow."_

* * *

All was quiet in the Autobot base. Many were staying in late recharging, as they had been waiting for Ratchet and Swiftlock to return. However, the task soon became tedious and tiring, and they had all retired.

All except one.

The Praxian stood over his student, watching him fitfully recharge.

Externally, Prowl looked completely fine.

Yet it contradicted the emotional turmoil boiling deep within him.

How could he have lost control in such a way? Not only did he nearly harm the one he watched over, the blue femme Arcee now knew one of his most guarded secrets.

With a soft groan as the pressure building in his helm grew, he seated himself on the floor not too far from Blurr, prepared in case something should happen. Letting all of the outside world fade away, he shuttered his optics and began to meditate.

... ... ... ...

A moan tore him from the peaceful bliss he had been wrapped so contentedly in. Doorwings twitching, the ninja rose silently to his pedes and headed over to the area in which the noise had come from.

The thin blue and white Guard fidgeted on his berth, optics shuttered tight and armor rising and falling from his frame in time with his labored ventilations. The stiffness of pain was evident, both in the young mech's electromagnetic field and in his body language.

Blurr moaned once more, twitching irregularly.

Prowl vented as he stared down at his student, hesitant on what he should do. Biting back a pained groan as the ever-present pressure made its presence known with more force than necessary, he placed a light servo against the overheating mech laid on the berth beneath him.

"It will be alright," the ninja murmured, shuttering his optics briefly. "Everything will be alright."

He pressed his mouthplates together, feeling the warning presence of his fanged dentia, as he slowly traced his long digits down to hold Blurr's servo in a gentle yet iron grip. The Guard shuddered, vents rasping, as a harsh cough sputtered from his respiratory systems, the force of it racking his malnourished frame.

It was then that the supposedly taciturn mech realized how much he actually cared for the young mech.

"Prowl."

He flared his wings ever so slightly, slightly shocked at recognizing the Prime's spark signature.

"Prime." He bowed his helm minutely, but his gaze did not stray from his charge. "What are you doing here?" The query was harsher than intended, yet Prowl found little sentiment within himself when he realized what he had done.

The massive red and blue mech hardly seemed perturbed by something that any overly strict leader would have called insubordination as he slowly approached the Praxian. Prowl remained silent as the mech towered over him at a respectful distance. The Autobot Leader's field waded throughout the room, radiating slight exhaustion, contentedness, suspicion, and concern. After a moment of thick silence, the rumbling and warm bass tones sounded. "You are unwell."

Pain stabbed briefly throughout his helm, and Prowl was unable to stop the tiny flick of his wing. Yet his tone remained calm and icy. "What would make you think so?"

With a massive and deep exvent the chosen of Primus crossed his servos. "Your field is emitting rather perturbing pain and exhaustion, as well as the slightest bit of hunger and possessive control." Leaning close, the Prime's voice dropped to a murmur. "Did it happen again?"

Finally losing his hold on his emotions, the Praxian relented under the concerned and intense bright cerulean gaze pinned on him. "Indeed it has. I...have made mistakes."

Optimus backed off ever so slightly, sensing the change in the enigmatic ninja. "I know it most likely is none of my business, but what, exactly, occurred?"

Prowl stood abruptly, making the Prime move back a small step. Servos clenched into fists, the Praxian shook his helm frustratedly.

"I cannot live like this, Prime! All of these _delectable_ temptations flitting past me constantly, like a leaf in the wind...oh, my _Primus._ You have no idea how _good_ you smell right now." Noticing the concern edging into the massive mech's stance, the ninja relaxed faintly, venting harshly as his engine growled. "I was a fool in not refueling and..." He drew in a deep ragged vent as darkness flitted in and out of his vision, the pressure roaring its fury, as his emotions battled within him. "I was ravenous and in my haze I unintentionally attacked Arcee."

Optimus tilted his helm, the faintest trace of caution tensing his frame. "Is she...?"

Prowl snarled, the noise rumbling and reverberating throughout his chassis. "No." Before Prime could interject the Autobot was already ranting again. "How could I have been so foolish? Why did I even choose to come here?" Suddenly his legs gave out as the pain screamed, and a groan escaped him -one that worried the Prime- as he shuttered his optics.

Optimus Prime steadied the other mech, mindful of his large and sensitive wings. "You are not to blame. This is not your fault."

Prowl shook his helm frantically, his frame shuddering. "I do not want to be like this..." Heat overcame him, making his frame nearly unbearably hot, and he looked up at the Autobot leader with a pain and agony filled gaze. "Why is it so...?"

With a sudden lurch, Prowl's frame seized and he collapsed.

_"Prowl!"_

* * *

**Hope you guys liked! R&R, pleaze! :)**


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